Discovery
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Discovery
He who was once known as Filipo Brasi followed his betters into the shimmering portal. The portals were only active for short periods of time, just long enough to send a small force across the water. The mages were only able to poke small holes in the barrier; they were unable to shatter it completely. These holes sealed themselves after but moments. When the holes disappeared, so did the portals.
He stepped into the portal and was thrust into portal space. He had not known this place for many years. Many... years? Was that true? Could he trust this feeling? He was dimly aware of some memory of this nauseating weightless place. Some memory of following his king - prince - general to an uncertain future. He struggled to recall the meat of the memory, but all that would come was some fleeting shadow.
The ground solidified and he smelled the salt of the ocean. It was like home, but the frost was gone from the air. There were trees he had not seen before, sounds he had not heard before. And people... there were people.
Bloodless.
His betters charged forward, and he followed. The bloodlust filled his being. The thirst for carnage and savagery. He let forth a fierce cry of war, eager for the cleaving of flesh. One warrior strode forward to meet him, and he who was once known as Filipo Brasi let fly with his blade.
His spada cut through the air, and crashed into his attacker's head. The force of the blow should have been enough to decapitate the man. It should have been enough to send the wretch to his grave. But his attacker stood strong. All that remained of the passing of the blade was the merest sliver of blood on the fiend's pale cheek.
The soldier had but a moment to wonder at this turn of events when his attacker raised a wand. The wand glowed and hummed, and a shower of sparks engulfed he who was once known as Filipo Brasi.
Pain like that he had not known since his birth - turning - ascension - destruction filled his being. His bones rattled and his flesh blistered. He staggered to his knees. His eyes watered. He looked up at his attacker, prepared to launch one final assault. The wand glowed yet again. He tightened his grip on his blade and tried to stagger to his feet. But the mage cut him down before he could move.
Darkness. Cold darkness. That embrace which he had long feared. It wrapped its oily arms around him and pulled him slowly under. He was dimly aware of some light, some warmth, further up ahead, but was powerless to do aught but wish for it. He was frightened. He was shamed. He was cold and terrified. But most of all, he was aware. He knew his name now. He remembered what had happened to him. He remembered the bargain he had struck with his King. Boundless power at the price of one's identity. The strength with which to crush his foes and defend his kingdom.
But his King was wrong. This strength was nothing compared to the unnatural might of the Bloodless. He had forsaken his name for nothing. And now his life was at an end because of it.
He closed his eyes and waited for oblivion.
Light. Warm light. Death's cold embrace retreated and Filipo Brasi was thrust into portal space once again. His mind reeled. Form return to his being. Flesh wrapped itself around newly reformed bones. "I'm alive," he gasped. And aware.
Hysterical joy filled his mind, but was quickly pushed aside by that familiar cloud. That cloud which pushed aside all thought of past, all identity. He struggled to hold onto the consciousness he had glimpsed only briefly, but it fled from him into the darkness of his mind.
The ground returned. The salt of the ocean breeze, the chill air of the north. He recognized his city. Sanamar. He recognized his people. People who turned to him, mouth agape, shocked at his appearance. He looked down at himself and saw that he wore nothing but smallclothes. He inspected his body for the wounds of the mage's blistering attack, but saw nothing.
He was whole again. Somehow, he was whole again.