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Azrael - The End Cliffs

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Azrael woke to the sound of sea, his temples throbbing in rhythm with the crashing waves.

He coughed the blood that was stuck in his throat and heaved to endure the pain; waiting, wishing, for it to pull back with the retreating tides. Azrael had taken harsh punishments before: crushed by boulders, ripped by gravity fields, and stabbed by flaming beaks. But none had left him in deep despair and towering anger.

Exiled. Sent to the abyss to be delivered as a corpse in a random world.

But he survived; with a torn body and laboured breathing -- but breathing nonetheless.

He could feel the blood that had no business outside his body running through the surface of his skin. A strong metallic scent filled the air and he could feel his clothes sticking to his body like second skin. He wanted to look over his injuries but he was too occupied with pain to do so.

A warm and steady flow of energy radiated from his core, coursing to every part of his body; he instinctively knew that his body was healing itself. Azrael tried to sense this energy but was dismayed at the paltry amount of it.

'I might have to go into hibernation,' he absently thought as his body produced the life energy needed to heal himself. He didn't know how long he endured, but it felt like forever before he managed to recover his sense of faculties.

Now that he had a semblance of thought, he silently thanked the gods for his Rur Constitution and tried to take stock of his situation. He observed a ray of light coming from one side of the cave's wall, illuminating the cave he found himself in. He didn't remember the light when he first gained consciousness, but then again, he had been too absorbed with pain.

The cave was structured like a room, with floors that are too smooth that it had to be man-made. It had naturally formed walls that slowly converged to the top forming a ceiling. The space was big enough to house 20 of him comfortably -- if not for the big piece of rock full of twisting and shining lines. It was situated on a slightly elevated platform that took up the middle of the room and it faced the big crack in the wall where the ray of light was coming from.

Azrael just sat there, staring at the glowing piece of rock, when a jarring thought surfaced to his mind. The rock was a Wesh Rock and the lines twisting on it were actually the Roots of the Wesh Tree.

"No... No no no!" He screamed as he crawled his way towards the rock, too exhausted to stand up and walk on his own two feet.

Tears slowly mixed with the blood on his face as he forced his body to climb the platform. Sheer desperation as the only reason he managed to reach the rock with his battered body. A trail of blood had followed him to the rock, bloody hand prints decorating the sides of it. The red prints made its way to the rock as he tried to activate the rock again.

Back to home -- back to the only life he knew.

The intensity of his actions dimmed, along with the light of the lines surrounding the rock. He only stopped his pointless actions when the lines no longer shined, his hopes dying with it.

Wesh Tree, Tree of the Cosmic System, Pathways of the Legend, and many other names depending on who or where the question was asked. He remembered the voice --the lessons-- of his teacher about the Tree; or specifically its roots and its purpose.

'The roots of the Wesh Tree are gateways -- gateways to a different world! However, using them required great energy outside the Age of Unity.'

Energy they were apparently willing to part with just to get him out of the way.

"You got what you wanted huh?" He whispered to the now dull rock beside him. He knew it was bound to happen;  he was considered as a threat after all.

Staying at a prone position near the rock, he closed his eyes and waited for injuries to fully heal this time. Crawling with open wounds all over his body had been an idiotic thing to do, no matter how smooth the floors were.

After a long but indeterminate amount of time, he could finally move his body freely without pain. He removed his clothes to assess his body; he could not detect anyone close by so he had no inhibitions in being nude.

His body and clothes were fully covered in dried blood but there were no longer superficial wounds in his body. He could still feel the repair ongoing inside but at least he won't be an open blood tap.

"Let's see... what do I need? I need a clean cloth, water, and some rations. Throwing a tantrum is surprisingly exhausting... at least my Shadow is still with me."

His Shadow was not the literal shadow but the small black sphere that decorated his right ear. It was inherited from his mother and he found it funny that he had an inheritance when he didn't even know who his own mother was.

It was a useful piece of artifact though; it can be used as a space storage and it can shape shift to a different object. He normally wears it as a cloak but his "Exile Ceremony" forbade him from wearing one. For some reason, he had been forced to wear presentable clothes as they expelled him outside Ost; his previous world.

"Trust them to make me wear fancy clothes even in my own execution. Winter's breath take them all! Them and their useless traditions." He complained, to no one in particular, as he settled himself and tried to keep his emotions down.

Nevan told him that he was free; free from everything. From responsibilities, royal court, traditions, loved ones and enemies -- Free from him.

The cold comfortable breeze from the cave's entrance brought Azrael back from his musings. He hurriedly controlled Shadow to retrieve some items and it floated from his earring to the space near his hands. It expanded in size and he could now fit his hands through it to retrieve his items.

After cleaning himself of dried blood, he retrieved a set of clean clothes and wore them. He was wearing ceremonial clothes when he arrived but decided to never wear anything like that ever again. He settled for a muted grey sleeved shirt, topped with black battle vest and pants. A pair of black boots finished his clothing ensemble.

Azrael didn't know the affairs of this world so he prepared for all occasions; his battle set was very comfortable anyway. He wore Shadow above everything, which transformed from an earring to a deep black cloak, opposing sides clasped together near his collar bones. Its length reached the smooth floors below and he decided to keep the hood off; he figured that a hooded man would be less welcome than an open face. After checking several items and weapons hidden inside his own clothes, he stopped procrastinating and decided to face whatever bloody pinions he will find in this world.

Azrael walked to the crack on the wall, which he assumed as the entrance, and then promptly stopped.

Blue.

Everything in his line of sight was blue. He faced the nameless sea in front of him and watched the blue waves turned to white as it crashed to the stones located far below. The word entrance didn't seem correct anymore as no one could enter the cave unless they knew how to fly.

The cave was located in the middle of a tall cliff, which was located at the edge of whatever land he was in, the unending sea enough as an indication of it.

A precipice, and in the middle of it all, was him.

He closed his eyes as he felt the breeze kissing his skin, sounds of the waves relaxing his still-frayed nerves, and the smell of the sea bringing a promise. A promise of something new, something he didn't know he wanted -- a promise of freedom -- a precipice of change.

He forced back the emotions and the tears trying to burst out from his chest and eyes.

And laughed.

He laughed: at his exile and death, at his family and home, at his conflicting emotions. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed until he ran out of breath. He hoped that his uncontrolled emotions were just the result of shock; he didn’t want to be considered as a lunatic in this world.

"It's over. New life, new world, new people. Get over it and move on." He repeated it to himself, over and over again.

Azrael gave the Wsh Rock one last look before moving on.

"Now... how in the pointed tails and broken eggs am I going to get out this cave? Bloody pinions didn't even make a stair." He silently thought and weighed the idea that this new world didn't have the concept of stairs.

"Could it be that everyone here knows how to fly?" He continued pondering about the lack of stairs before he berated himself with his escapism attitude.

Azrael gathered his, now slightly bigger, energy pool and tried to sense his surroundings. He should have done it right after regaining his faculties, to ensure that no danger abounded in his near vicinity; but his instinct told him that he was safe here. His instincts never failed him. Except for the exile business of course; no amount of Seer-Instinct would have helped him there.

He sensed a different but familiar energy all around him. A huge amount of ground elemental energy covered all directions, aside from the cave's pseudo entrance; where he sensed faint amount of wind and water energy. Large amounts of weak ground energy and absence of faint water energy indicated that the cave was covered, not by soil, but by hard rock. The energy extended pretty far up and he dreads the idea of climbing such height on a steep cliff.

He decided to spare some of his own life energy to control the gravity around him to make the task easier. Ensuring he won't fall would be more efficient than suddenly using it on his falling body. Methods of using of life energy flooded his mind as he converted it to control the pull of the world around him.

He slowly crept to the edge of the entrance and surveyed the uneven rocks. He concluded that climbing seemed possible, albeit a daunting, task. He started climbing after mapping which rocks seemed secure, instincts guiding him on a slow but safe climb.

The sun was setting when he arrived at the top; changing the colour of the clouds to a warm orange colour, three moons made visible in the dimming light.

He silently laid down, the rocky surface cooling his back; his tired breath mixing with the rhythmic sounds of waves. The foreign moons silently loomed above, mocking him for he is not of this world. After a few blinks, he decided to stand up and look at the other side of the cliff.

This time, a sea of green greeted his eyes, decorated by orange clouds and the setting sun on the horizon. The clouds did not look natural as it hovered high above the entire forest without a single crack, hiding the sky. He saw the distinct divide between the blue sky and orange clouds as it framed the area above the entire forest.

Azrael worried about the faint sense of danger he could detect inside the clouds; his instincts screaming at whatever the clouds decided to hide. He observed the forest and made a garner on what it could contain. His body was still recovering from the disastrous world jump and he was sure he wouldn't be able to handle any of the creatures that made the forest their home.

"Well, I guess I'm stuck here then..."

 

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End of First Chapter

Bloody Pinions / Winter’s Breath - a non-sensical expression.

Pointed Tails and Broken Eggs - Part of an idiom from Azrael’s World. He uses it as a swear word.

 

Other idioms:

A Summer’s Embrace and Winter’s Breath came from but a single chest

Pointed tails and broken eggs lead to broken bones and pointless death.

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Meshiere Continent, Lochley

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