Syndication11 Jul 2008 - 06:43:31 pm
DarkAngel
Legend of the DarkAngel
Solanthus was a city of commerce, always thriving from merchants worldwide. It was greatly known for two things – the finest weapons of steel crafted by Silwyn and Solanthus’ most prized jewel, Princess Valis. Everyday, Silwyn forged weapons of finest work, mining silver in the evening, forging them by dusk. This was how Solanthus thrived. This was how Silwyn had won the heart of the princess. Every night, Valis would receive a rose or a token from him, and by morning, she would see him from her own tower, selling his craftsmanship.As usual, merchants bustled on the streets, amassing the cacophonous market, as if it were a festival. They’d pass by his shop, occasionally pausing from the traffic to take a look or glance at young Silwyn’s finest work. All but one – Lady Valis. It had aroused his avidity, her whereabouts. It was long before he decided to go in search for her when one of her maidservants had found him.
“She has disappeared!” She exclaimed, pulling his arm back, tugging his sleeve, as Silwyn was about to leave his shop to search. Her startled exclamation stopped him in his tracks, forcing him to turn back to her abruptly.
“Who has taken her, girl?” Silwyn asked hurriedly, fear increasing, bearing weight upon his limbs.
“The DarkAngel has taken his last wife. It is Valis, Silwyn. You must hurry!” She returned, shaking her head to emphasize the danger of the situation. Hindering the new buyers that now arrived in his shop, Silwyn grabbed the closest sword his own hands could claim, dismissing the maidservant. Saddling up his horse, he mounted it and rode hard toward the city’s gates, heading to the dwelling place in which the hermits though the DarkAngel resided, praying that he still had his chance.
The DarkAngel’s castle was fixed upon a secluded area, where North faced Solanthus, where South faced the Forests of Wayreth, where East laid the sea, where West dissipated of the desert. It was grand and gothic like, its architecture like those of the Roman cathedrals, its castle built by one of the famed artists during the Enlightenment Era.
Silwyn mounted down from his horse, just as it were about to stop before the castle’s wooden entrance. He beckoned it to leave, the horse leaving with an exuberant trot, glad to be rid of the place, despite it had only arrived. Sheathing out his sword, Silwyn brushed his sweaty hands on his brown leather breeches, his forest green vest which covered his bare chest causing him to perspire along with his own fear. He gave the huge wooden doors a gentle push. Its hinges responded slowly, creaking against old wood to heed his command. It finally opened, bidding Silwyn to enter at his own risk, ceasing its odd and eerie creaks. With a brief nod of acknowledgment and zeal, the blacksmith entered, his sword raised, his steps silent and mute against the stone floor.
The DarkAngel sat upon his throne that ensconced itself in grand hall. Skin deathly pale, eyes the color of obsidian, hair the color of the Abyss, robes of finest midnight silk with wings of velvet black, the figure pondered and mused, his fingers twirling the ten fangs that were held by a leather thong.
He had done his deed, his quest. He had found his last wife, the Princess of Solanthus. Now, he had just one other problem to deal with. His mind, theoretically prophesized by his Creator, should be free, along with his body, of his own horrid wings. With the souls of ten wives, his curse, which was to safeguard this forsaken castle, was to be lifted. Thus, he would proceed on with his life, living to the end of it with his own version of bliss.
He knew Silwyn was coming for him. In honesty, the DarkAngel was content with his arrival. Perhaps, if the man had killed him, Death may be his other way of freedom. The weight from the sorrows of the many souls burdened him, up to the point his back was now usually bent, his shoulders slouched and a little caved in. Yes, that would be my plan, he thought.
Silwyn found himself inside the grand hall, seeing it was the first chamber he had come across that was unlocked and opened. He stepped inside, not expecting anyone due to its silence. He jumped back slightly; sword raised threateningly, his eyes upon the Dark Angel.
“Where is Princess Valis?” Silwyn managed to speak, despite the horrifying look in which DarkAngel portrayed himself to the human eyes.
“She no longer is her own. Her soul dwells here,” The angel spoke, his voice blunt, “And you will need to fight for her freedom.” He slid from his throne, magically wielding a sword that had appeared in mid air, in hope that it may intimidate the human blacksmith.
Immediately, Silwyn charged toward the angel. The angel parried his useless blow with ease, sneering at a failed attempt. This continued on, the two circling each other like hawks, their blows feinted and blocked. Occasionally, the angel was able to place a slight cut upon Silwyn’s sword arm, forcing the human to wince slightly at the poignant touch.
“Why do you need her so much?” Silwyn asked as they crossed swords again.
“To be rid of my curse. But it seems that it is doing damage to my own body,” remarked the angel as he forced his sword free from the struggle, bidding the human to come forth yet again. His talking had got him off guard, thus allowing Silwyn to plunge a blow into his abdomen. He shrieked, falling upon the floor, his sword clashing against the stone.
“You bear their sorrows and hatred, thus you can’t be freed from your curse. You shouldn’t be taking freely,” Silwyn remarked, his sword pointed at the angel’s throat, “Thus their burdens are killing you, rather than freeing you, despite my blow.”
He had known the myth and legend and curse the angel bore, as it was constantly told to him by a hermit, his grandmother. He flicked his sword, breaking the chain the angel wore, releasing the souls, breaking their bonds of enslavement. The little mists of white flowed and swam in the air, returning into their respective bodies.
In the end, Valis returned to Silwyn and they got married, becoming wise rules of Solanthus. The other nine wives returned to their villages, forgetting the toil in which they had sunk their souls within, living lives to its fullest extent. As for the angel, he had been right – by death, he was truly free.