Opposites

[WP] The normally calm Monk is finally angry, and the explosive Barbarian has gone past rage into a grim calmness. What caused this, and how scared should the cause be of the pair?

*****

The party stood still, as the low cackle echoed through the cavern. Before them, the terrible Lich Ulticus, cackling madly as the tear between planes began to form. From the tear, it could be seen a great torror, a creature larger than reality itself; a creature ever changing, ever maddening. It bolstered it's way towards the portal, ready to feed. To destroy. To consume. Most of the party readied their weapons and their wills, with the exception of two.

These two did not look to the looming horror, nor to it's summoner. They, instead, looked upon the altar, bloodied and gored from the gruesome ritual. A child, innocent and scared, with look of glass within lifeless eyes. Skin, flayed from flesh. Heart, pumping until the ritual complete. Pained screams, until there was no breath.

The two stared, not only in horror of the scene, but I in recognition of the child.

The first of the two, a hulking behemoth of a man, of muscles and hides and savagery and rage. But there was no rage, for this man. Not today. His friend, this child, the one who taught him of joy and laughter, of flower crowns and frolicking, of fun and forgiveness. Of innocence, and of compassion. Now, dead. Gone, forever. In these moments, he learned of another type of emotion; sadness. Grief. Depression. Mixed with his inclination to violence, he could not be simply rageful; instead, his emotions transformed into malice. Such were his emotions, that those physically closest to him were feared enough to move away. Such was his grief, that it protruded from him, causing others' stomachs to fall.

The second, a woman of monkhood. She, too, knew this child well. She, too, had attempted to ease and guide the savage man who was her friend, but was bested by a child. And, from that child, she learned many things too. This child honed her patience, from the unending questions and curiousities. She fostered from this child, an enjoyment of fun and of unpredictability. This child taught her to accept chaos, and taught her the true meaning of balance between it and control. For her, no mantra could keep her calmed; no meditation would keep her from action. She had allowed herself some amount of release from control, in her new findings of balance; but now, she succumbed to it. Released all control, and fell into the murky depths of chaos, of pain and of rage. Of destruction, and sorrow. She released a bloodcurdling scream, her pent up emotions converting into a release of ki, the wave pushing and knocking over her comrades.

The two moved towards the foes, emotions blinding them from madness, from fear. The Lich, failing to notice the uncharacteristic changes in the two warriors, laughed and attempted a short monologue.

Not but a single syllable was uttered before the skull was eviscerated in a flash of light and color, as the monk's foot found her mark. The body began to move, in shock and surprise, but it too was reduced to boneash, with nothing but the whirl of color to indicate action. The Lich had been ready for an assault, as his body began to regenerate; but even rapid as it was, it only prolonged the Lich's suffering, until only a smoldering pile of ash remained.

The barbarian, meanwhile, was assaulted by tentacles of the monstrosity, none of which made a stoppage of the malicious man. He simply swung his axes; slow, but methodical. The noises were incomprehensible, but it did not stop the man he slowly sundered forward, hacking and slashing, until he reached the portal. There, he dropped the axes, and grabbed the tentacles. Once he had a good hold, seemingly effortlessly, he tore the monstrosity asunder, and tore the halves through the portal. Impossible, given form, the deathless given death.

The two, tasks completed, turned to their comrades. The barbarian pointed to their resident cleric, staring an empty stare. The cleric, nevertheless, yelped, and hastily made their way to the body of the child, beginning a spell of revival. Their druid had begun making their way over at the same time, but had been stopped by the monk. She demanded that the druid use their spell of reincarnation, to bring to life Ulticus, producing a tainted silver medalion. They, she said, would cause the same pain and torture to he as he did to the child. He would become once again living, so his soul, after a short life of torture, would be unendingly burning in the pits of the Hells.

The druid and cleric, as well as their paladin, went to make rebuttals to the greusome demand, but we're ushered into silent prayers of forgiveness instead from the dual stares; one of unending anger, and one of bottomless calm, neither of which from the expected persons.

Even for them, they were uncertain if the gods would be safe from these two.

*****

THE END

While people in other countries are enjoying summer, I'm here battling rain, cold and even more cold every day. The weather is a strange, fascinating and mostly annoying phenomenon to be honest.

How's your day going though?