Re: ~*Those Who Dream at Sunrise*~ (The sequal to DotBM) IT BEGINS! (Limited LSU's!)
Finally found time to get this posted...
Sorry for the wait ^-^() I hope its worth the delay... I dont have any reference from the RPG itself to look at just what Ive got in my memory since Im writing this from a computer without internet currently, so if anything isnt exactly accurate I can change it later
~~Liven Dinas~~
Down the bloody streets of memory..
:::6:59pm:::
Farwell.....
His cross glinted around the neck of a stranger. His cross was in the hands of a dampiel...Farwells cross. The last time I saw it...was the last time I saw Farwell alive.
As I stood there staring at the stranger who came into the Church, my gun hand began to tremble slightly, though I still held it on the wearer of Farwells cross. Something just wasnt right about the way he moved towards the altar, touching the edge of each pew as if with a lovers caress. His slow stride seemed afraid to stir the dust that had settled on the floor after seven years of neglect. No, there was not a hint of evil or ill will in anything he did, but that didnt make it any less strange.
Why would a dampiel wear a cross?
Farwell.....
The light shone from him, a bright white beacon in the cold darkness of the bloody night. Farwell and Roland, good and evil, locked together in a battle to the death, one that neither seemed to be winning, until that final flash of light revealed Farwell impaled by Rolands sword. But the light would decide it in favor of goodness, for though Farwell was dealt a fatal blow, the light would finally end the madness brought about by the wicked priest. The battle was over, Farwell had won. Roland was dead.
But I didnt care that the fate of the City was safe now that Rolands madness had ended. I didnt care that he was dead and that justice had been done. All I cared was that Farwell, the man who would stand against any wickedness in the world and yet would not lift a hand to save himself lest he do violence, the peaceful man that rescued me as a small child, was dying. I saved him once that night, saved him from sure death by changing him into a vampire, but because of the Blood Moon any vampires and dampiels that havent drank blood became weaker, thier healing powers diminished, and now though he lay in the cold street as a vampire he was still dying. He has not tasted blood, and because of this he would die. I offered my arm, and the boy, the boy that he had saved that night, the boy that had turned Roland into the unholy beast that had preyed upon the night, offered his arm too. Drink, we said, drink Farwell and live. Please, we begged, please dont leave us, we need you. The world needs you.
I need you...
I cant bear this world alone, my father and mother, my family was ripped from me as a child. But you made up for it, you showed me the world isnt as evil as it seemed. No matter how much death I saw, I knew there was a light in the world making things right. No matter what there was a purity at work, driving back the taint that lay so heavy on the fabric of the world. No matter where I roamed I wasnt alone, I had a place I could call home, a family I could count on to be there.
So you drank, you took my arm and drank, and as you did I saw my mistake. As my blood coursed through you I saw your pale skin turn back to the warmth of human flesh, your blood red eyes become the warm brown I always loved. And I knew you would leave me for good.
It was the boys blood that made the creature that slayed you, but it was mine that ended your life. We both wear the sin of your death for as long as we live...
"If you're going to shoot me then do it already."
The strangers voice broke me from my reverie. He had knelt at the altar, and spoken to me without even turning around. He just....waited, sat and waited for a decision to be made, without seeming to care what became of this encounter. I took a deep shuddering breath and felt my face set into a look of determination. I strode toward him, the edges of my trenchcoat swirling the dust behind me, my bootfalls echoing through the room. I finally stopped about three feet away from where he knelt, and cocked both my guns, leveling them at his head. The double clicks of my guns echoed loudly in the silent church but he still did not so much as glance backwards at me. Something about this man tickled at my memory, but the grief of Farwells violent death, fresh as the first day in my mind from my memories, washed over me and clouded my thoughts. "What are you doing here?"
The mans back and shoulders began to shake, as if with silent laughter, but when he spoke his voice sounded tight and neutral. "A good man once told me that the Church of the Guiding Light's doors are always open to the children of God."
Anger, hot and violent, began to echo within me as his last words echoed through the church. Shoving the gun in my left hand back into its holster, I quickly cleared the distance between me and the man, and none too gently I grabbed him with my free hand, dragging him to his feet and facing me in one fluid motion. "Does a child of God steal that which doesnt belong to him?!" I demanded as I whipped my gun around and looped it through the chain which held the cross, lifting it to shove it in his face. But it was in that moment I saw recognition dawn on his face, and as his eyes met mine the room suddenly felt a little less dark. I could almost see the candles lit, and almost smell the scent of roasted turkey, I almost heard the sounds of Farwell's quill pen scratching at parchment in the other room. Suddenly Farwells words from earlier as I prayed came back to me, and I knew that he was the One Who Was Lost. My grip on his clothes slowly loosened and my gun slowly began to lower, releasing the cross to swing to rest against his chest. His hand slowly rose to the cross, and his burning flesh hissed like steam as he touched it with his bare hand, but his mournful eyes never left mine. "It will always be his, Liven," he said, almost in a whisper. "But I wear it in remembrance of my sin."
Grief washed over me again, a seven year old grief made new by his appearance, and for what seemed to be a long while we said nothing. I wanted to turn away but I felt pinned in place by the mirror of my own pain staring back at me through his eyes. We both wore the heavy weight of pain and guilt, but because of that I felt less alone than I had in seven years.
Suddenly the heavy wooden door of the church slammed open, and a dark shape of a man was silhouetted in the doorway. My wits back around me I swung the gun in my right hand towards the door, simultaneously drawing the one I had holstered with my left. I was vaguely aware of the stranger who was no longer strange readying his weapons beside me as we both turned to confront this new trespasser. Angry with myself for being caught off guard I raised my voice to be heard over the rising winds.
"Unless you are Father Farwell come back from the dead you dont belong here!"
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It was written a while ago so :/
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Originally Posted by Asilynne
