• Eulogy: The death of Ivan Von Gaunt
    The thunderheads rolled past the Fallen Saint as he staggered across the field, the long grass whipping about in the wind and roiling like a tempest sea as he stumbled forward, a determined grimace set on his face, his normally peaceful blue eyes maelstroms of sorrow. He could see it in the distance. A withered, twisted tree that stood alone in the center of the field, it's knotted branches and knobby roots clawing at the sky like talons.

    The rain began to fall. He was soaked to the bone in a matter of seconds, the freezing rain chilling him to his core. He began shaking violently, the occasional hailstone thudding off of [him as he pushed onward, fighting against the elements. Lightning flashed in the distance, setting everything into stark contrast and making the old tree look more like a looming demon before him. Ivan ran his fingertips down the grain of the bleached, dead wood. He took a step back, regarding the thing that was his greatest weakness. Dark energies swirled in his palms, forming a long black shaft, and a wicked blade.

    An axe.

    The Fallen Saint threw aside his beret and shirt, the tattoos all over his body seeming to writhe with lives of their own as he swung, the cruel blade biting deep into the wood as blood red sap burbled out of the wound. The tree seemed to groan mournfully as he hacked once more, deepening the cut. A hacking cough escaped him, spattering his own deep red blood on the trunk in a wild spray. He spat more on the ground and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before taking the blade once more and hewing deeper into the thick trunk.

    Thock. Thock. Thock.

    The entire tree shook with every blow, blood flowing freely from his nose and mouth as he could feel it filling his lungs. Another sputtering cough, another gout of dark blood spewed forth. The ancient willow creaked and cracked, the deep red sap pouring from the cut as Ivan's chops grew weaker, less accurate. He continued on the the booming thunder and peals of lightning, forcing himself to go on in spite of the consequences. He knew full well what he was doing.

    He was long due for his return to Hades, to his rightful punishment.

    With one last swung, he severed the trunk from it's roots, the tree cracking and giving one last pitiful moan as it fell to the ground with a resounding crash that temporarily blocked out the storm. Ivan collapsed and retched, another copious amount of his life force spilling out and trickling across his hands and seeping into the Earth. He felt dizzy, and, for the first time in centuries, he truly felt weak...

    Old...

    "Goodbye..."

    Maybe this was the cowards way out. People would curse his name and the very day he came to be on this earth, the day he returned to the bar. He wept there, a deep, hollow sound as the axe faded from his hands. Xeros appeared at his side, mewling in horror as he did all within his ability to keep the ebbing life of his master, his friend, within it's mortal shell. Ivan shook his head and pushed the little spirit away, instead handing him his sheath with his cross.

    "Take it back... To the bar..." he rasped weakly, coughing and clutching his hand to his chest.

    "They will know what to do with it..."

    The Fallen Saint's eyes clouded over, once so full of life, knowledge, and understanding, but now empty. Perhaps this is why he had been called back to the bar. To die. His eyelids drooped shut as he mouthed something inaudible, and blackness enveloped him. He gave one last, burdened sigh, and the large, heavy body lay there in the storm, cold and lifeless.

    The dagger in her hand shook as Namea cleaned it, something was wrong with Ivan, her senses told her this, but she did not want to believe. Slowly she stood and walked downstairs seeing the crosses. Her eyes were wide as she picked up the small sheathed crucible. "no.." slowly she looked up at the huge cross, swinging it over her shoulder she walked, then ran, dwarfed by the huge wooden thing until she came to the tree. The cross was thrown aside then, wood shattering against a rock as she knelt by Ivan's side. "I-Ivan.." She choked out, looking at the tree. Slowly her fire spread over the axe, hotter than ever it had burned and the metal bubbled and melted, clearly showing the assassin's opinion of her lover's actions. "How could he.." She breathed, her heart shattering in her chest, or so it felt. "The coward!" She cried out angrily. Tiny fists beat on the still chest of the fallen saint and tears poured down the woman's cheeks "I hate you..I hate you..I HATE YOU!!" she cried out. "You..left me..like everyone else.."

    Slowly she fell, her head on his cold chest and a tiny hand on his cheek. "You left.." she murmered, looking dully into space from where she lay in the mud under the shadow of Ivan's tree..the place she'd first told him she loved him. "Ivan.." The tears kept falling, and she just lay there, staring into nothingness...nothingness.."You weren't...fallen to me..."

    The memory tore at Namea and she shivered, then screamed, gasping and clutching at her heart as she woke up, her hair wildly tangled around her body. Standing she paced the room as the tears came, for hours, until her feet were blistered from pacing the same circle, yet still, the tears came.