Cross Fire Chronicles

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Jericho Veronus
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Cross Fire Chronicles

Post by Jericho Veronus » Fri Mar 13, 2009 8:44 pm

Maybe starting about, not sure, 8 years ago?...maybe, I started writing short little blurbs that come eventually would come together as mental journal entries of a single soul, but of many people. A collaborative of monologues, if you will. It's about a soul with no sure name or physical form that hops through time and space, inheriting the lives within those worlds. It was only recent that I was bored enough to go back through a bunch of my old stuff and uncovered this, so I figured I'd go ahead and put the collection of entries out there since I know otherwise they'd probably never see the light of day again. So here they are, "The Cross-Fire Chronicles", and possibly more to come if I ever decide to get back to writing. And since it would be really long, I'll put each entry or two in each post.

Entry 1:
I awoke from my drunken slumber and blinked until the star lit sky came into focus. Jumping down from the mouth of the cave on the look out for a town to defile. The view of a moonlit peaceful town came into view as did a wide grin spread across my face. I commanded and my dragon took a nose dive. Leaping off I landed in front of the nearest guard used the force of the fall to crush the man's face in with my fist.
"You have been judged by the hand of the Dark Lord Asmodai, you scum must pay for your sins. You can't run and you can't hide mercy will not be shown." I spoke though I doubt those around me even heard over the sounds of screams and clashing steal of everything that was happening.
Snapping my whip at the nearest town wench and slinging her towards me. A stream of yellow drifts down hill towards my boot. Apparently a soldier that had come out from the nearby hut soiled himself at the very sight of the Rider of Sin, as he should. I pointed my right arm at the ground and blasted a steam of fire which follows the piss straight back to the source setting the man into a giant screaming flame. Now royally pissed off...and practically pissed on, I continued to walk through the burning village. A villager with a butcher's knife charged at me, but without breaking step I continued to grab the man's hand, snap it like a twig, and dis-arm the man, literally. Near the center of town I approached a fountain tainted in blood. Cutting my finger tip and then dipping it into the red water, I creates ripples which continue and forms a rift. The rift becomes bigger and small, black, jagged figures emerge from it and fly off to the nearest survivors. The villagers flee as the creatures crawl inside their ears and start to eat away at their brains.
"Do not fear, embrace the spawn of Sin." Something I say much too often, perhaps I could call it my catch phrase.
The creatures clawed at the scalps and faces of the towns folk as they squeezed themselves into their heads. Once inside they began eating and taking control, turning the peaceful people into savage, rage filled animals that started attacking each other and destroying themselves and their own town. The sun peaks over the horizon as I sit leaning against the fountain's edge. Using the finger bone of a dead peasant I corked the wine bottle and walked around the charred remains. Those humans which did survive are scattered on the ground twitching and trying to breathe. I stepped on the throat of one to ease his long lasted pain. The eyes of a small creature appear in the shadows of an alley. When looking closer I noticed that it's a child who has apparently been left with nothing, he beckons for the boy. Feeling a connection to the boy, I noticed that even though he would have been a fairly easy target for the Sin spawn they left their mark but did not enter his mind, as if they were too afraid. Kneeling in front of the boy, I got an idea of training this boy as an apprentice. To be able to give my gift to the child I would have to also give my curse.
I instructed him to close his eyes and be very still, for it would hurt quite a bit. My fingers rose to the child's eyes, a black smoke was emitted from my fingers and began to disperse through the closed eye lids. Screams flew from the his mouth, not of agony but rather of anger. They were intense to the degree that windows shattered, the ground shook, and heads off the rotting townsfolk corpses exploded disintegration the brain. The child was now able to learn from his new master of Sin. Taking the child by the hand, I led him back to the dragon,Ominus to leave this silent and very blood curdling scene.

Placing the child upon Ominus' back I held my hand to his forehand and recited a chant, before taking a medallion from around my neck and placing around his own. Within it lied the seed of Sin and this boy was now chosen to replace me, taking my seat among the riders. As I ordered my last command to my dragon, my power already began to diminish. Ominus took off into the night with his new master, and I simply walked away, never to be heard of again.

At least in this life.
Last edited by Jericho Veronus on Mon Mar 16, 2009 3:48 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: Cross Fire Chronicles

Post by Jericho Veronus » Fri Mar 13, 2009 9:01 pm

Entry 2:
One, single repetitious sound, heard in the most dead of silences or even when one couldn't normally he himself think. The thumping of the fearful heart being hunted. The heavy breathing of the lungs gasping for air after continuous use. The drip of blood to the ground from an open wound. No matter what the source there is always one. It's what makes my job so much easier. It's not that I hear this but rather feel it. This draws me to my objective. The prey of my hunt. I need no introduction. I am a creature of the night, known to humans as a Vampire, but it is not humans I hunt but rather other Vampires. My name is Alzriul and I was created for the soul purpose to rid the world of my kind. You must fight fire with fire, for the only way to vanquish evil is with an even greater one.

It would make sense that once I rid the world of them my purpose would then be to kill myself, but through my knowledge that time is a long way off. Many don't know it nor will they ever but 1 out of every 10 people you know is a vampire. It is only a myth that they only go out at night, or that when they bite someone they turn them to vampires as well. No, they live normal lives but they all have the common goal to become the master of humans. It is proficized that one shall become the leader of man and use them as an army, an army against their own people. Once conquering both the humans and vampires the two races would become one in order to create perfect balance. Personally I think it's all a load of bull.

From the lone window of the room which I claim as my dwelling I can see a large portion of the town and the forests and countrysides beyond. I live within the monastery of St. Omus with the monks that serve the same cause as myself. They trained me, raised me, and even though they cannot speak about it, I believe created me. They themselves are a dying breed, their beliefs shunned aside as new religions moved into the region. I assume I am their legacy, that I am here to carry on their work, their word. They only let me outside the walls of the chapel at night, since at night I can more easily conceal myself to hunt. I know nothing of the occurrences of those during the day. I know no other life, and wouldn't have it any other way.


Entry 3:
Firetide, the most back-washed spawn pool of filth and scum, not even deserving to be called a spaceport, but there are many that call it paradise. It was here that my journey led me. I had been here before but that was so long ago, in a different, when I was a different person. I'm a mercenary by trade, a bounty hunter if you will, and currently I'm hunting probably one of the most dangerous of creatures. This is for no prize of glory or money but for self satisfaction. The biggest risk for what others would consider the smallest reward.

This creature labeled on the data pad I possessed was once what I called a friend, a brother almost, but when the ship got attacked I was left for dead. Everyone else got off, EVERYONE, but somehow they conveniently forgot me, but I guess I should thank them for this. If I were to Pull up my sleeve one could examine the metallic plates that run up the bony structure that used to be my arm and continue across the carcass that had once been my chest.

I had been to Firetide often enough to know my way around, but fortunately not often enough to leave a lasting impression on any of the locals. This allowed me to pass among them more or less unnoticed. Even when I checked into the same cheap tavern/inn that I had checked into time and time again, the same clerk at the desk did not recognized my face. Another benefit though, I remember quite well what "works" for the barmaids and what doesn't and it makes it all the much easier for me to get one out of her clothes. Indeed, I am a man on a mission, but I am after all, only a man.
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Cold Phoenix
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Re: Cross Fire Chronicles

Post by Cold Phoenix » Fri Mar 13, 2009 9:28 pm

I would suggest separating your ideas more thoroughly. Even if you don't indent separating blocks of text with a space or two can really make it all easier to take in and read.

As it is now it looks good, but it's very easy to get lost in the sea of words you have going on there. This is also not helped by the fact that the writing has a bit of a rambling touch to it.
Your move.

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Jericho Veronus
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Re: Cross Fire Chronicles

Post by Jericho Veronus » Fri Mar 13, 2009 9:31 pm

Entry 4:
There was a wanted post in the local paper for a dark stranger that had been seen passing through the region. It consisted of a crude sketch which, in no way, did me justice. Though the witness's description of a later post definitely was quite accurate.

The witness says:
A thick, solid black mist rose up from beneath his feet when he walked as if the pressure of his foot with every step forced some sort of gas from the ground. It spread and disintegrated in the air around him, but the empty space around his figure seemed ever changing while traces of the mist still lingered around him.

Tattered and faded robes slung from his shoulders and down his back, the frayed and ripped edges dragged along the ground. From his thighs to his boots, crude metallic plates surrounded his legs, with only occasional slight separations for the movement of joints. A black leather belt wrapped around his waist and from it hung a large sword, whose blade long and thin passed even the length of his lower body and cut into the ground leaving a trail of where he had been.

His right arm swayed normally and casually with his walk, his hand was uncovered, showing the only open flesh on his body, it was a pale color with almost a grayish tint. His other arm was prevented from any movement at all as it was bound to his side. Straps and chains tied around it and wrapped around his torso, as if it was a chained beast. The arm itself was covered in a thick black cloth, tightened to it. The robes he wore covered his chest and rest of his stomach, under the wrapped chains, not showing any evidence of what was beyond it, but the sheer size was proof enough that an armor was worn. A dull gold chain was around his neck, it disappeared beneath the robes as well, showing nothing of what was worn on it.

A cloak hood covered his head and wrapped around his face from the nose to below his chin, although the upper half of his face was not covered, it was shrouded by a darkness unlike any other, and all that was seen was a red light radiating from the left eye socket.


I guess I should be glad I missed this witness, had I seen him I most likely would have killed him and missed out on this great story of fame. Little did he know this tortured and tired being was all that was left from a once great warrior.

Eventually finding myself standing outside of a bar, my attention was drawn away from the paper. I felt a familiar presence but did not recognize it, as if it was possible I had been here in a past life. I felt impelled to enter. There was a man behind the bar and he had a face I fully remembered, the name however escaped him. It made no difference since it had been so long that I doubted the bartender would even recognize me.

A few people looked up not when I entered but rather when they heard a whizzing sound came from the darkness of the hood as the unseen eye took in my surroundings. A few people here and there but apart from the bartender no others seemed familiar. The room I rented for the night had a door with a black oak finish with a rusted key hole and ring knob. It was a small, basic room. I looked at my reflection before removing the silver chest plate.

It was then I realized I no longer even recognized the man looking back at me. The last time I had even actually paid mind to my own appearance had been in the same very mirror years ago.

The short jet black hair was now a flowing silver, his skin now pale looking more like that of a dead man's. One eye socket now held a small gold mechanical eye. It was a gift from a friend during a much lesser time when I had to sell his eye to pay off a debt. The other socket now empty for he held the gem in my hand with usually resided there. The gem was the condensed heart of a shadow demon. The demon ripped out my remaining good eye during a fight and in turn I ripped out it's heart. My mouth was sealed shut not to prevent him from talking but to prevent a beast from getting out. During his travels a small creature had laid an egg inside him. It fed off of my very hatred and grew. It was almost too late before I became aware of it's existence inside me. I refused to unleash such a demon he created upon the world and too prevent it from taking control a silversmith poured liquid silver into his mouth prior to the completion of the sewing of the lips. The liquid burned the demon and cauterized it to his very vocal cords. Preventing him to ever speak again.

Where my neck met the rest of my body, in the front was a metal cap with a ring in his throat. It was from here I am still able to drink. My chest and shoulders bore countless scars and burns, from the countless foes I have fought throughout the years. On the right side of the chest there was a symbol branded into the burnt skin. The mark left by slave traders whom found me passed out and took me as a prisoner. It was shortly after receiving this brand that I beat them to death with there own limbs which I ripped from their sockets. The chains wrapped around my torso and arm had long since pressed against my skin and left their marks. While my free arm still resembled that of a man, my entrapped one was far from it. The arm pulsed, it was white and the veins black as coal shown through the thin, transparent skin. This arm had become possessed ages ago, but I refused to cut it off, so I found a way to stop it from spreading to the rest of his body. On his shoulder there sat a blue ring with three sharp blue needle poking straight through the shoulder at different angles. The needles pieced through the veins and cut off the blood stream from the arm. One day...one day I will find a cure, but until then, my arm remains the most dangerous of threats both to himself and others.

I dared not even look at my back for I knew what was there. The worst and heaviest of all my endured tortures. The very reason I could no longer even stand straight. The one thing that took away my humanity and sanity. A D'morgin. It was also the very thing that began and fueled this journey of blood lust and revenge. After they killed my wife and I had been found guilty of that very crime, this was my punishment, this unearthly tumor like creature was surgically grafted into my spine and brain stem. It forced me to constantly relive my most sinful actions and always see his wife's mangled corpse. It was suppose to drive me insane, make me lose my very will to live, but just the opposite happened.

But now I am tired and as always I pull my ring from my pouch and place it on my hand. It was the remembrance of the bond between myself and wife before. I came here to a place where I had once found peace as a man. But now a man no longer I came to find peace in death. I shall now lay down on the bed and unchain the arm, and unchaining the beast within, and fall asleep. In time, it would take it's toll and I shall not awaken.

In hopes that the next life may be a better one.
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Jericho Veronus
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Re: Cross Fire Chronicles

Post by Jericho Veronus » Fri Mar 13, 2009 9:33 pm

Cold Phoenix wrote:I would suggest separating your ideas more thoroughly. Even if you don't indent separating blocks of text with a space or two can really make it all easier to take in and read.

As it is now it looks good, but it's very easy to get lost in the sea of words you have going on there. This is also not helped by the fact that the writing has a bit of a rambling touch to it.

Yeah I was thinkin that myself. I at least went through and spell checked it all, but yeah for the most part I just left everything how it was originally written. Never really went over it or anything, so they're more or less rough drafts.
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Re: Cross Fire Chronicles

Post by Jericho Veronus » Fri Mar 13, 2009 9:56 pm

Entry 5:
Everyday I grunt and groan the entire way through the physical feat of simply standing, and usually after several minutes and a failed attempt or two I manage to stay on my own two feet. Passing through the routine I shook my head and tried to look around, vision slightly blurred and eyes pained by slight glimpses of light. My head felt as though it had been hit with a hammer and every muscle in my body was sore. For some reason my clothes were stained and damp with only God knows what and smelt of cheap whiskey and cigarette smoke. I had no idea where I was, and probably wouldn't even at my best. It was within some sort of a back alley between buildings. My flask was empty, I soon found out after resting it on my lips and having nothing come out. All around were bottles upon bottles emptied to the last drop. Trying to walk forward I stumbled, slowly making my way down the street using the wall just to stay up, the momentum of leaning forward being the only cause of my feet actually moving. The street had a few people walking it, but as anyone came near they made no hesitation to dart away, as though I had been carrying a plague. After a while this pain of the pounding in my head grew greater, every sound grew louder and louder echoing never silencing, every source of light shining brighter directly into my eyes, seering with pain. I wanted to let out a yell but I couldn't and I fell, everything stopped. No sights. No sounds. And no feelings, except for the knock of the cold hard ground as the last pounding in my head.

And there was darkness.



Entry 6:
It's still dark outside as I awoke only moments ago. I remember the woman I had just spent the night with, she was lying asleep still in the bed. There would be repercussions for bedding with one of her kind and I couldn't help but thinking about them. I was the heir to a throne among the demons of my father's realm and I shamed my own name for something as simple as love. Love for a woman of another race, an inferior race. There was only one thing left to do, in order to save both both my name and my love.
As I knelt, I felt no regret, and began to recite passages of ceremonial black books written by the court sages of the old nations. The long cast shadows from the furthest reaches of the land starting creeping towards me. Veins around my entire body began to pulse, my flesh turned pale and every wound, every scar opened up and a black blood poured from them. The blackness began to engulf my entire home. I chanted louder until the shadows from all across the world had now blocked me out from existence. And there was nothing.
When the sun rose, it would cast its light into the open room where I would have just been. But I would not be there. In order to ensure the safety of my love I must cast myself to the oblivion, erasing all proof of our doings. For without me, there was no proof that I was the one who fathered the child, now within her womb.
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