text: Hey guys, This is another piece I've written involving the character of Attacus. A servant to the gatekeeper who controls passage to the afterlife. It's a older piece, so it may be a bit rough around the edges, but I particularly enjoyed writing the action scene between Attacus and Annaculeese at the end. As always, I appreciate any thoughts or feedback you might have on the piece, please let me know what you think. Cheers, Lordchimp &#x200B; &#x200B; In the glorious woodlands, neither in the Midland or the Afterverse, he found Annaculeese and his men. Their camp was large and proud, with at least fifty tents and fifty fires. They were all laughing and joking, merry and joyful with fine ale, delicious food, wonderful music and plenty of singing and dancing. There were humans here, as well as elves. A pity. Humans have very short lives. He made no attempt to conceal himself, or to avoid detection as he approached the huge gathering. After all, he was chosen by Oronus himself, the gatekeeper. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* Izael glanced back to the festivities and sighed heavily to himself, leaning heavily on his spear with annoyance and weariness. The other guard on the perimeter, Novak scoffed to himself and spat on the ground with venom. “It’s not pitting fair. Why should we have to stay on guard while those lot are enjoying themselves?” Novak grumbled, angry notes leaking into his voice as he spoke. “Because, every elf and every human must do his part. It is just unfortunate that we happen to have been fated for this eve.” Izael replied calmly and lazily, fairly confident that he had already explained this to his mortal companion. He looked over at Novak again, who looked lustily over to the camp before spitting onto the earth again. Izael stopped the laugh, but couldn’t prevent a warm smile from emerging onto his face. Novak was much like a dog in some respects, angry and unable to see the big picture, not caring for manners and etiquette. He was brash and almost too honest, not attempting to hide his faults and flaws. But, he had a few of the good traits from the beasts as well, sharing their fierce loyalty and unwillingness to give up on a fight. Novak was making no attempt to perform any guard duties and instead had leaned onto a nearby tree taking a sip out of a waterskin that Izael suspected was not full of water. He smiled again and allowed himself to relax. There was nothing in these woods that would harm them, and even if there was, nothing could be stupid enough to approach their camp. *For there be gods here.* He thought to himself. Then he heard the distant clank of chains. He stopped leaning on his spear and cocked his head, unsure if he had actually heard the sound, or if he had dreamily imagined it. He listened carefully, straining his ears for more telltale noises. But, after a few moments, only the quiet sounds of the woods rang through the night. Izael relaxed again, returning to his spear and sighing once more. “Did you hear that?” Novak suddenly whispered, his eyes now trained on the trees ahead of them. A few moments passed. Nothing. “You are hearing things-” Izael started. “No! There it is again! Can’t you hear it?” Novak said in his hushed tones. The clanking of chains rattled, still faintly in the distance. The noises were getting closer. “I hear it.” Izael stood tall, with his spear held firmly in his right hand, with his left he raised it up to his chest. With a few whispered words of power, his hand began to glow with a soft blue light. All the while, the rustling of metal drew nearer. He moved his hand in a sweeping motion, like a man scattering seeds, causing flames to burst into existence on the edges of the camp. The fires illuminated a wide arc around the camp with yellow flickering light, but nothing but the trees were there. Both of them scanned the outskirts intently, searching for the source of the mysterious clanking. As it got nearer and nearer, unseen bells began to chime. They started as a tuned symphony, which was a wonderful mixture of different notes and pitches. But they cascaded quickly into a concatony of jarring, mismatched tones, which clashed and rang out against each other harshly. Izael looked to Novak with concern heavy in his eyes. “Get to the camp. Sound the alarm.” Novak nodded, his face stained by fear and panic and began sprinting off towards the festivities. The Bells stopped. When Izael looked back to the trees, his breath was taken away in a gasp of sheer terror. All the air left his lungs and he felt his hands and body grow weak. In all of his years of living, he had never seen a more dreadful sight. A figure stood, shadows emanating from his body, curling around his feet like a thick, black smoke. He wore dull, worn, scratched armour all over his body, not a single piece of flesh or skin showed. A cloak of pure darkness hung over his shoulders, with the shadows twisting and coiling at his feet. Soft blue light gently pulsed in his visor slit, the only thing on him that wasn’t black. “By the Gates...” Izael whimpered. The figure looked around lazily, completely unconcerned with the trembling spearpoint that was pointed at him. His hidden glare seemed to pierce deep into Izael, almost as if he was looking *into* him, not *at* him. When he spoke, his voice seemingly came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing all around, but barely audible. “WHERE IS ANNACULEESE?” Even the sounds of words forming sent spikes of horror shooting through Izael’s blood, it was like speaking to the physical manifestation of fear itself. He found himself struggling to think, struggling to talk and it took him a few moments before he could bumble the words out of his quivering lips. “In the center...the ring of the sun...by the gates save me...” He managed to whisper. He dropped the spear onto the rough forest floor and fell to his knees, hands clasped together tightly, words of desperate prayer spilling out uncontrollably. Sobs racked his body as his mind attempted to grasp the concept of his impending death. All of his memories, all of his experiences, all his passion would be gone. Snuffed out. Extinguished. The bells began to toll again, ringing, crashing, chiming, building and building in volume until it was deafening, drowning out everything else that might have been making noise. Izael closed his eyes. Then, as quickly as the jumble of conflicting bells had arrived, it vanished. Through panicked breaths, he slowly, opened one of his eyes. Nothing. No black figure, no bells sounding, no chains clinking. Just an empty section of forest, the tree branches swaying softly, as if nothing had happened. As if the Gatekeeper’s man hadn’t just been there. He could hear distant screams from the camp, the sounds of joviality and merriment fading and the sounds of terror and fighting emerging. *What have I done?* Izael’s body was racked with silent sobs. *What could I have done?* \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* Attacus moved through the camp like a dancer through a ballroom, after all, why shouldn’t he? The chosen of Oronus may walk where he please. The occupants of the camp were in a state of utter panic at the sight of the black clad warrior, elves and humans screaming and running, trying anything possible to get away from the shadow of death. Terror seemed to protrude from his horrifying form, seeping into the hearts of all who were nearby. There were a few brave, stupid souls who thought that they could fight him, even hold him back. They were woefully nieve. Such unfortunate creatures. A man known as “Shatterhand” was one of them. He was said to be the strongest of all the beings on the camp, save for Annaculeese himself. He had killed over two hundred men in battle and he had looked upon the tears of the gods themselves. Shatterhand had steeled himself, pushing down the feelings of fear that had welled up inside of him, the feelings that had threatened to send him to his knees weeping. He had looked death in the eye more than once, he was ready to do so again. In a painfully casual motion, Attacus glanced at the hulk of a man stood before him, roaring his defiance. He was at least a foot taller than Attacus, with much more muscle. Attacus waved his hand offensively lazily, and the man called Shatterhand erupted in an explosion of black smoke, spraying blood and gore onto the dry forest floor. In one little movement of his hand, he extinguished the spark of a mortal, utterly and completely. This happened to the few who stood in his path, either a wave of the hand, a click of his armoured fingers or a sharp nod of his head. No matter the method, the result was the same. Death. He strolled all the way through the camp, only killing those which opposed him. He had no feelings on the matter, because Attacus could not feel, he could only do. After all, he was bound to serve. He eventually reached a ring of trees that sat in a calm pocket of quiet, away from all of the chaos of the encampment. It was like walking through a curtain of gentle air, for once Attacus entered the ring of trees, everything he saw was bathed in a bright light. His monochrome vision was splashed with detail and sharpness, whites and blacks he saw seemed so detailed, more vibrant inside the circle, like he had entered a different world entirely. Even his jet black armour seemed to be made up of a hundred different shades of grey. It made him pause for a moment, contemplating what exactly his eyes were seeing. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” A serene voice asked, interrupting his thoughts. It was like a tranquil song when he spoke, like every syllable was it’s own sweet form of poetry. The voice belonged to an elf with a simply perfect appearance, who was sat cross legged on a huge boulder with his arms resting on his lap and his long silver hair flowing down his face, covering one of his eyes. There was not a single part of his appearance that was not perfect, even the long scar down his cheek seemed like it had been put there intentionally to give his face strength and character. “ANNACULEESE. I HAVE COME FOR YOU.” Attacus boomed, his voice echoing all around, from everywhere and nowhere. The bells chimed softly. “It is a shame... You come on behalf of Oronus do you not?” Annaculeese sang, standing himself up as he spoke, seemingly unworried about his impending death. “YES.” Annaculeese looked around at the beauty that surrounded him, savouring the sights, drinking in everything his senses would permit. He reached out gently and grabbed hold of a leaf that hung off a low branch near him. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, breathing in deeply as he felt every texture of the smooth leaf. “THE GATEKEEPER DEMANDS YOUR SOUL.” Attacus boomed again. “Do you ever stop to think why? Or what he plans to do with it?" There was a significant pause. It was a good few moments before Attacus answered. “I DO NOT QUESTION. I OBEY.” Annaculeese seemed to understand his response, nodding his head slightly. “Maybe you should. Even pawns can make moves.” He said solemnly. With a sudden flourish, he clapped his hands together which created a burst of blinding white light. In an instant, the light had faded and his hands now gripped a long, slim, curved sword which gleamed and shone with a soft, pure radiance. “RESISTANCE IS USELESS.” Attacus said, his voice booming, but lacking any emotion or passion. He reached out a hand, as if to touch Annaculeese, even though he was on the other side of the ring of trees. Then, he violently clenched his fist. Nothing happened. Annaculeese still stood there, completely intact with his sword raised in front of him. Attacus cocked his head ever so slightly, in mild confusion. He was expecting a bloody mess where his opponent stood and yet, he remained intact. “You cannot draw upon his power. Not here.” Annaculeese stated solemnly. Attacus drew his wicked, long, heavy blade from his back with the clinking of heavy chains echoing around him. “SO BE IT.” Attacus exploded into a sprint, the chains clanging with every step he took on soft earth of the forest floor. Annaculeese roared with desperate rage and fear, swinging his blade in spinning arcs, making the air whistle as it swirled around. When he was only a few more mere strides away, that was when Attacus struck. He swung his dark greatsword like a woodsman might swing a hefty axe into a tree, with the full weight of his body behind the blow. Annaculeese danced backwards, exploding with sudden movement and turned the blade upwards with a hiss, but the heavy blade was much harder to parry away than he expected and it smashed into his shoulder with a glancing crash of metal on metal. The instant before the steel landed, a golden shoulder pauldron flickered into existence and was then sent spinning from his body as the swing knocked it cleanly away. Annaculeese danced further backwards, shock evident in his anxious eyes. If it weren’t for the armour, he would undoubtedly be missing a large chunk of his shoulder. Before Attacus could wind up another brutal swing, Annaculeese dived forwards, thrusting his glowing blade towards Attacus’ breastplate with lightning speed. Attacus took his sword in a peculiar grip, with one of his hands on the hilt and another on the blade. He then jerked the steel to the side in a sharp motion, slapping the stab away. Annaculeese had already skipped to the side with a beautiful grace, slashing at his helm, his leg, then thrusting again at his chest. Attacus managed to turn the first two blows aside, but his heavy blade was too slow to stop the thrust. The glowing sword rammed into his armour with a horrific screech, then erupted in a huge blast of crackling lightning. Attacus was thrown twenty feet from the force of the explosion, small flickers of electricity arcing from him into the ground. He crashed into the mud with a dull thud, he did not groan or grunt with pain however, like any normal man would, he merely got to his feet slowly and stared at his adversary with a newfound wariness. He glanced down at his chest plate, surveying the damage. Although the had blade only scratched his thick armour, the lightning had gouged out a large chunk on his right side, exposing the dull grey metal underneath the black outer layer. It was as if a giant fist had torn the metal away with an ugly tearing swipe. Annaculeese smiled and began spinning his sword again. He ran forwards and began a series of slashes and cuts, whipping his blade across Attacus in a furious salvo. He gave ground and defended well, using his strange double handed grip to block the slices that he could not step away from. However, his thick armour was not meant for deft movements, especially when he could not draw from the Gatekeepers power. One of the swipes made it through his defence, scraping against his leg plate with a ear-piercing shriek. Once again, there was another crackling burst of angry lightning, which carved a neat line deep into his plate. He backed off, trying to make space, but the swift blade of Annaculeese followed him mercilessly. After taking another glancing cut, he changed tact. He deliberately left his leg open, using a high stance to fend off the never ending blows. As predicted, Annaculeese took the bait, feinting one way, then cutting savagely downwards, causing another vast crater in his armour with the hiss of metal on metal, and the raging hum of twisting electric. Then Attacus made his move. He suddenly shot forwards, despite the mighty blow to his leg and smashed his helm into Annaculeese’s face. A golden helm flashed into being just before the impact, but the sheer force of the headbutt made it crack with a sickening crunch. Attacus pounced on the elf, like a wolf that senses it’s prey weakening. He reigned a fusillade of heavy, powerful chops onto his surprised victim with relentless pace, cracking yet more pieces of armour when Annaculeese could not parry the hits aside. With a titanic swing, he sent Annaculeese flying into the dirt with golden pieces of his shattered chest plate spiraling through the air, the golden light catching on the gleaming shards of metal, making them twinkle and sparkle as the tumbled. Annaculeese had lost an arm piece, a leg plate, his breastplate and his helm was now missing the left side from the headbutt, crimson blood flowing slowly from a deep cut on his forehead. Annaculeese by some feat of determination managed to rise to his feet, groaning and cursing under his breath. At some point during the clash, he had dropped his sword, the blade sat on the ground still resonating with a quiet hum. He looked at Attacus, who was stood motionless in his battered armour, smoke curling from the great craters that had been smashed into it. He moved over to his sword, in an awkward, jerking gait from his missing armour. Attacus made no move to stop him. “Do you know why Oronus wants my core?” He said though pained breaths, still walking towards the sword. Attacus said nothing. “I will tell you something now, servant of the gatekeeper.” He spat out a mouthful of blood as he picked up his blade. “To stand at the behest of another, using an oath as a shield, does not mean you have no choice.” He looked upwards at the beautiful colours mixing in the branches. Attacus strode forwards, sword raised high. His blade fell at lightning speed, making even the air shriek as it cut through it. Annaculeese swayed to one side sluggishly and feebly parried the blade, embedding it into the dirt with a thud. But instead of digging the blade out, the black clad warrior rammed his shoulder into the wounded elf, sending him stumbling backwards with his arms flailing searching for balance. There was a scrape as the tip of the great two handed sword was dragged out of the earth, then another whistle as he slashed again. Annaculeese parried once, twice, then another powerful swing clashed into his blade and his tired, weak fingers were unable to hold on. The sword span out of his hand clattering to the floor a few feet away. He sank to his knees, his vision blurring from fatigue. Attacus looked at the sorry sight before him and sheathed his wicked sword, the metal sounding like it was angry at being caged before the work was done. He stomped forwards, with no passion or fury in his gait, just a disturbing, clear minded focus. There was no malice. It was like a carpenter hammering a nail, or a blacksmith shaping a horseshoe, just a task to be done. He grabbed the groaning elf by the neck and dragged him, kicking weakly and struggling feebly to the end of the circle. Attacus did not care for his soft pleading and bargaining, his sweet honeyed words meant nothing to him. It was like trying to reason with a clock to stop ticking. As soon as they left the circle of trees, the drab, undetailed monochrome shades returned into Attacus’ vision, making him pause for a second to adjust. Everything that once was sharp and focused inside that ring of trees was now bland, simple and dull. Annaculeese groaned again and attempted to remove the iron grip around his throat, batting and pulling at the gauntleted hands with his remaining strength. It was like a babe trying to struggle against a giant. He dragged the helpless elf a few more meters before dumping him unceremoniously onto the ground, coughing and spluttering. With a small flourish of his hand, a jet black lantern puffed into being with a loud ring of a low bell and a small explosion of black smoke. “Once more I gaze again into oblivion, once more I face the void.” Annaculeese whispered quietly, in barely audible tones. Attacus held up the lantern, it swinging gently from the motion. There was a rattle of clinking, heavy chains as the lantern began to glow with an eerie green light, it hummed with a dark power. At first, it was barely audible over the rattling of metal, but as the seconds passed, it got louder and louder, drowning the clinking out. Annaculeese was groaning, trying to get away, but the vice-like hand of Attacus held him down firmly. He tried to speak again, but his lungs felt like they had no air to breathe. They heaved and heaved but no breaths would come. His eyes started to glow, turning green, mirroring the lantern’s light. The humming grew louder and louder, turning into a piercing whine which could set anyone’s teeth on edge. It was sharp and shrieking, like fingernails on glass, like a blade on stones. After a few moments, a green shimmering image seemed to form around Annaculeese, like a second skin, mirroring him completely. His body seemed to go pale, as if the colour itself was draining out of him, turning him as white as a ghost. The after image’s face began to twist and snarl, fighting desperately against the pull of the lantern’s horrifying light. It was his soul. His very soul was being pulled into the dark, battered lantern. It was getting further away from his body with every passing second, where once it was fighting, forcing itself away from the pull, it was now wide eyed in horror, it’s hands desperately struggling against the air, searching for anything that grant it purchase against it’s impending fate. But, this was the Lantern of Oronus, its power could not be denied, not even by gods. With a last, ethereal cry, the spirit of Annaculease was finally claimed by Attacus. The spirit disappeared into the lantern and then everything was quiet. Everything was still. The light died. It was like that for a few minutes, the battered form of Attacus stood over the corpse of his foe, the silence encompassing everything like a blanket. He was motionless, with his head bowed. Even the wind was still. Then the bells began to chime. The sound of the great chains clinked and clanged, signaling the gatekeepers arrival. He appeared in a burst of black smoke, the chiming of the bells stopping as soon as his presence touched the realm of the living. Attacus raised his head in greeting to his master. “Master. It is done.” He said, holding up the old lantern emotionlessly. The great hooded figure that was Oronus took the lantern in his skeletal hands which seemed to slowly leak out black smoke, trailing it through the air. He inspected it, or at least looked like he was inspecting it, but it was difficult to tell with the black hood obscuring his head. After a few moments, he waved his hand and the lantern vanished in a puff of black smoke and with the caw of a crow, it reappeared in Attacus’ gauntleted hands. “THIS CORE IS YOURS. YOU WILL NEED IT. FIND THE OTHERS.” With a small flash of light, the spirit of Annaculeese flowed into Attacus. It was like a river of glowing green flooding into his eyes, making him shine like a beacon in the woods. He crackled with radiant energy. The most astonishing thing about the transition was the sudden presence of something extraordinary present inside of him. He could feel again. His sight burst into colour. A multitude of thousands of different shades blossomed into being, making him gasp and shudder with pleasure and delight. It was incomprehensible. It was like he had been living blind, deaf and dumb and suddenly he was thrust into the light. He dropped to his knees, overcome with ecstasy. He wept like a babe, the tears streaming down his face freely. He clasped his gauntleted hands onto his helm in a vain attempt to stop his senses from feeling. An involuntary groan escaped his lips, his own voice sound alien to his ears. After what seemed like hours, he shakily looked up, to see his master’s reaction at his moment of weakness, but Oronus was no longer there. He was just left alone in those dark woods. “*I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect this.*” Attacus screamed, his newly found voice cracked and buckled under the sudden strain. He whirled around desperately, trying to find the source of the voice. For so long, he had been alone, not even having himself for company. “REVEAL YOURSELF.” “*Well, you took my core, my spirit.*” “WHERE ARE YOU.” “*We are bound together. We are entwined now, you and I.*” “WHAT IS THIS.” “*Hello again. Attacus.*” Annaculeese said.