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(created 2012-03-24 00:20):
Here is my entry for the Heroes vs Villains contest. A Hero, one in body and soul.
"My name is Algernon. Just Algernon. I came from a far-off place. You've probably never dreamt of anything like it."
High, glass-dome ceilings, looking out at a drab, blue-grey sky. Slick, wet, walls and cold. Always the cold. Biting, and stinging, threatening to tear apart your very essence of life, your sanity. The mighty peaks and majestic spires of the Frigus enclave have always held me in awe, especially as a youngling. Although no member of the Frigus clan had ever seen the enclave from the Outside, we could imagine. Couldn't we just see the stunning peaks and swooping arches of glassy ice? The massive domes of glass over the Grand Room? It was always a safe haven. For travellers, injured, homeless. Once in a blue moon when a stranger arrived on our doorstep, we would all crowd around the Evening Fire as he told stories of his travels, his experiences on the Outside. We gawked as he told us tales of vile, rotting corpses risen from the dead; massive Eight-Legs with poisonous bites; enigmatic Tall-Ones; secret treasures long forgotten; and even once a rumor regarding a fearsome Dragon. All of their adventurous deeds, and accomplishments, laid out before us like a storybook; but this was no work of fiction.
It enraged me.
As these travellers embarked on perilous journeys into the unknown, I huddled in the Enclave with the rest of the Frigus, waiting...studying...learning... for what? It all seemed so pointless. What good is knowledge when there is no one to remember you by it? When I am gone from this World, I want to be remembered. Remembered as a great Warrior, like the ones carved into the Hall of Ancients. Like the traveller. That is when I knew I had to escape the imprisoning Enclave once and for all.
Stories, legends, rumors, all told of a place. A sacred place, of contemplation, realization, and epiphany. The Ancients were said to have meditated there, so disciplined in mind, body, and soul that they could survive in the place for years at a time without sustenance. Only the most wise of Elders dared to go there, but they did not go there to become one with their spirit. None ever came back. They went to the place to die. The stories of the Ancients' glory evolved into that of malice, and blood. The Ancients were demonized, and the place became one juxtaposed with Death.
But no; I saw beyond this.
I studied for 19 years. I stared at the Wall of Ancients, my eyes flicking about in a flurry. The other students all told each other of the translations they derived from the Wall, and the Elders looked on, nodding their approval. I never saw in the Wall what they did. Where they saw the blood and menace, I saw a gilded past of conquest, glory, and valor. The words in the Ancient Language transcribed upon the Wall were studied by many eyes; and mastery of the Language grants one the highest social standing in the Clan. But I know they are wrong. They are all wrong. I know this when I gaze upon the Wall. I feel it when I run my fingers through the inscriptions while no one else is watching. I see it when I close my eyes, a thousand eagles bursting forwards to new lands, new challenges, and immortalizing legend.
I went to the place. Under the cover of night, I crept through the Enclave, down to the depths of the Low, and beyond. The farther I descended, the more intense the cold became. It became unlike on the surface. It became empty, unforgiving. As I stepped ever so closer into the darkness, and the cold gripped me in a vice like a hundred giants' fists, I began to reach a mental tranquility. The skin on my body began turning blue. I could feel my blood run cold, literally stopping dead in my veins. But still I ventured on. My heart began to slow, and finally stop completely. I did not stop. But what about all of the anatomical knowledge? Shouldn't I be dead right now? Yes, I should. But I wasn't. And this was no time to think about it. The darkness and cold eventually consumed me altogether, and I was finally one. In forfeiting my mortal and material body, I acquired something much more. For in the bowels of the place, I saw the Ancients. They first appeared as a golden light, shining forth from nowhere, but then grew into a shining, magnificent eagle. It spoke then, in a voice composed of a legacy of Ancients, all of them washing over me like a torrent of liquid gold. It spoke in the Ancient tongue, words that I will never forget:
"The blood, the blood of the Ancients is upon us. The Seal is broken, the time has come. The Dragon has awakened. The blood of the Ancients lives."
I awoke the next day lying on a beach, the sand invading the recesses of my armor and the water washing over me. Warm, inviting. A bight ball of golden light beat down upon me from in the sky. White, fluffy things drifted by. It was all so... different. That was the first time in my life I had experienced warmth. I did not know what to make of it at first. Could it harm me? No, how could something this glorious cause any harm? It was then that I noticed a smooth, round object in my open palm. I looked at it. A stone sphere, slightly oblong. I turned it over in my hand, studying the grooves and curves of a symbol on one side: a jeweled pupil, surrounded by a carved iris. An eye, perhaps? I was about to place the stone in my pocket and gain my bearings when the stone grew warmer in my hands. The heat emanating from it grew too intense for me to hold. I dropped it in pain, but instead of falling to the wet sand at my feet, the stone whizzed into the air. It seemed to start off in a certain direction, towards a forest in the distance. It went on like this for a few minutes, rising and falling, pointing towards the forest. Mystified by it, I followed its direction. I came upon the forest, and the stone fell into my open hands. Again it grew hot, and I again let it go; It flew further and further into the forest. I followed. I followed for what seemed like days. Finally, the stone grew hot one last time. It whirled in the air, pirouetting gracefully, and then violently stabbing into the ground, standing on one end. Whatever the stone led me to, it was here. But there was nothing here. A seed began to grow in my mind. What if the thing it led me to is under the ground? I keep thinking of the Ancients' words to me: "The Dragon has Awakened..." "...The blood of the Ancients lives," and I dig. I dig into the soil, through rock, ore, and sediment. All the while I can feel the great power of the Ancients coursing through my frozen veins. I know not what exactly waits for me under the earth, but whatever it is, I feel sure. Sure that I will be remembered for vanquishing the demon that lies within.
~Kortuga
PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF THE ANCIENTS DIAMOND THIS POST. I worked so damned hard on it, and I really think it deserves to be in the Top 100.