The Cloud-Capped Towers - VII

by ~veritaslux

VII – Evanescence

Seldrenr looked around with his deep violet eyes, scanning the environment that surrounded him. He was seated on his steed, his jet black steed, which stood absolutely still, like a ghost out of a nightmare. His head stopped scanning abruptly, and he sniffed the air, the warm, dusty air. He cocked his head, letting his intense crimson hair fall over his face. A chill crept down his spine, and he dug his knees into the stallion. It bolted forwards at once, heading directly west into where the sun was setting.

He kept his wings, his dark, dark wings close to his back, to prevent the wind from sweeping him off of his horse. As he leaned forwards, Seldrenr’s black tunic fluttered in the wind that was sweeping his hair out of his eyes. Flattening it down with one hand, he flicked his vision back once more, the child-like fear of the dark compelling him to check whether it had caught him up yet.

The truth was, he was scared. Scared that the abyss would retake him and lock him in its icy chains once more. Not only scared, angry as well. But how could he help that? He was eternally angry, the rage inside of him having festered for a millennia before finally being given a chance to release, find a victim. And that victim was that angel. That angel who had locked him in his dread prison. That angel and his entire people, his entire people who had agreed. Seldrenr would have vengeance.

* * *

The demonic angel came to a camp of small tents. Red and battered they were, and inside he knew were monsters. Monsters that humans and elves and angels had nightmares about and that scared them half dead. If they weren’t dead once they had been done with.

He grimaced. He hated dealing with these putrid, stinking monsters. But he needed them. He needed them for his army of darkness and evil. So without a second thought, he leapt off of his dark steed. He raised his sword, and started gabbling in the language of truth, the language of the angels that he had once spoken and glorified.

“Invénsin noxnras dredhres! Connásin bellnr mi an dis angelners seldrenners!” he yelled, chanting more than anything. His words, his carefully picked words were drawing out the agents of evil. Come, monsters of the abyss! Join me in the fight against the wicked angels!

Two lumbering beasts, their stench almost unbearable to the demonic angel, came out and bowed down to him, as if in a trance. Their horns were twisted into sharp points, their leathery black hide shining in the sun. The angelic language was the language that everybody understood if they listened. It was the language that could persuade a man, persuade an animal, persuade an army.

“Invénsin! Essit exhobns mi mardrase angelners! Inros essaiton seldrennros hasa va, inros vavombairon! Ziomison vas demardnr!”
Come! It is my sworn duty to slay the angels! They were cruel to you, they were repulsed by you! Take revenge!

More of the foul, so foul beasts came out of their hiding places. Revenge was the sweet word to their ears, the word of control. When they were all bowing at the demonic angel’s feet, he looked down with a sneer, a cold, hard sneer.

“Mi connádin?” he asked. You will join me?

One by one, they pledged allegiance, still in the trance like state that the language had put them in, and the hypnotic stare that the demonic angel had put upon each and every one of them.

“Ponsin gladnex vas. Kalnison emadnex vas. Pralsin bellnr,” finally whispered he whom they feared. He turned on his heels, and mounted his horse, his jet black horse. Sharpen your swords. Ready your spears. Prepare for war.

Digging his heels into his sides, he rode away once more, in search for different camps like this one. They reacted well. So would the rest. The army would be roused; the citadel would fall.