Shroud of Turmoil, the Life of Scipio Be'te'fer
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Author:  DoomEnforcer [ Thu Jul 10, 2008 6:13 am ]
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*Some time passed, Scipio’s seemingly lifeless figure lay in the unknown location. He lay there, a vegetable, mindless, and even through the clerics divine magic, the wounds seemed to lack the will to heal*

“Bloody ‘ell mate, ye’ jus’ dun wanna live d’ye?â€

Author:  DoomEnforcer [ Tue Oct 07, 2008 9:03 am ]
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Scipio had grown increasingly distant from both society and his own sanity through the years... Anyone who had even laid an eye on the man could tell.. Those who knew of his past, had some idea of the past that haunted him.. Those who did not, simply strayed away from his cold, ominous nature.

He sat near the waterfalls of Thistledale reading over the past, seemingly ancient, journal entries he had completed throughout his life. Some of the pages brought tears to his eyes, while others refueled the hatred that had driven him into the atrocious acts that constituted his infamy.. He closed the old text and ran his hand through his hair, looking up into the sky..

"..What now.. hmmm?" -He spoke to himself

"..There's nothing left to be done.."

"...I mean.. There are many things I deeply wish I could accomplish.. But to what satisfaction would the accomplishment of these tasks bring..?"

"...Honor..? ...Overrated.. Monetary gain..? Never... But fame... fame is always the way to go..."

-He spoke to himself strangely, engaged in an ambiguous conversation with his own mind-

"..My son... though it pains me to say such a thing... Thus I entitle it my offspring.. pulls me into a depression that not even the blood of 10 Espardian virgins, if any still exist, could quench..."

"..It brings me the work of trying to keep something alive... rather than something i've been regular with... the pushing of something towards death.."

"..Teva...who knows..." -he rolled his shoulders-

"Maybe she's off with Dante... Maybe not.. Not my business anymore.."

"Though it was once..."


-Scipio sharpened the edge of his blade slowly-

"..How old am I..?"

"...Must be nearing 30 by now.. Bloody old..."

"Even so it's not like anyone can touch you.. eh.. me.. in combat.."

-A smirk of inexplicable satisfaction crossed Scipio's face-

"...You know... you're kid won't have a good life... he'll grow to be like you... or worse since he hardly knows how to fight..."


"....Roman will be a useless bastard... like you... who doesn't deserve life.. and nor will he be able to earn it.. like you did..."


"...Even you know what must be done…"

-He finished with his blade and slid it away, standing, and brushing some dust from his finely embroidered armor-

"...Well... that was enjoyable..." -He concluded, taking a sip from his flask and walking off-

Anyone in their right mind.. would say the man had lost his sanity.. Of course anyone in their right mind.. would say he lost it long ago.. But perhaps, with a deeper train of thought... one would realize that Scipio's path of self-realization was not a loss of sanity... but rather a lack of luck for those who had fallen in his path...

Author:  DoomEnforcer [ Mon Mar 22, 2010 7:09 pm ]
Post subject:  Re: Shroud of Turmoil, the Life of Scipio Be'te'fer

Scipio lay there, motionless. His breathing slowed, pulse lowered, a mere step above death.
He was deep in thought. He hadn't liked the term 'meditation', it seemed to absurd, too priestly, religious almost.
Albeit, it was something he had developed a deep affection to.

The cold winds of the Northern plains stung his skin, but he had grown accustomed. The blade at his hip frosty, unused for nearly a year, glistening in the moonlight.
He knew no one would come looking for him, who in their right mind would. But he had also known that with the diminishing appearances of the Northerners, there would be no better place to stay than at their very doorstep, in their wilderness. For who would look there, and risk provocation of the fleeting Dwarves once again.

He took a deep breath, the cold night's air filling his lungs, chilling what was left of warmth in his body.
He opened his eyes slowly.

Author:  DoomEnforcer [ Mon Sep 06, 2010 8:11 am ]
Post subject:  Re: Shroud of Turmoil, the Life of Scipio Be'te'fer

A bright flash of lightning shot across the night sky, followed by the roar of thunder.
Scipio's breath was quick, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.
There was a searing pain, across his back, though he couldn't quite make out its origin.

Where am I?
What is going on?
What in Thanatos' name is that bloody pain..?

Thoughts shot through his mind in a jumble, and he couldn't quite differentiate or prioritize what to answer first.
The next thing he knew, his rapier was drawn, and he was staring at the image of a hooded figure.
Scipio couldn't draw a breath, his chest felt as though it had been hit by a sledgehammer.

W-What...? He barely managed to squeak out, with what little breath he had.

The shrouded figure drew closer to him, and slid a blade out from a sheath on its belt.
Scipio grew cold, his muscles seemed paralyzed, he couldn't react to move his own weapon, much less assume a defensive position.
The man was now but a foot from him, and Scipio could feel a chilling breath emit from under the concealment of the hood.
As it blew across his face, their surroundings suddenly changed. Everything grew dark, nearly pitch black, the other mans figure became but a silhouette.

....Scipio couldn't manage a word.

The other figure, stood there, blade drawn, staring at Scipio for what seemed like an eternity, while his own body began to struggle for oxygen. Suddenly, the figure pulled it's hood back, and Scipio's jaw slacked in horror.

Standing in front of him, was himself. The others eyes had been gouged out, and his mouth sewn shut. It seemed fresh, as blood was trickling from both orifices.

The abomination drew the blade back, and plunged it deep into Scipio's stomach, completely piercing through the elf's body, a bloody tip protruding from his back. He silently gasped, eyes wide open. Again, the scenery changed.

He found himself lying on the ground, the blade still in his gut, in his childhood home. He lay directly under his mother, where she hung lifelessly from a noose. He swallowed hard, her blood dripping onto his chest, from a wound on her neck. Scipio closed his eyes, letting out one last breath, before letting his mind drift into darkness.

He woke up in his bed, with a sudden jerk, the sound of rain pounding against the roof of the Inn where he had lodged for the evening.

Author:  DoomEnforcer [ Sat Mar 26, 2011 1:14 am ]
Post subject:  Re: Shroud of Turmoil, the Life of Scipio Be'te'fer

Perhaps it was his age, the rum, or the lack of combat in the passed months.
Scipio lay there, his eyes wide open directed towards the ceiling, long breaths moving in and out of his lungs.
It was morning, around sunrise, it must have been, for he heard the birds start their morning calls not a moment before.

"..Hmmph.." -He grunted as he rolled over, knocking a half empty bottle of rum to the floor.

He hadn't slept a night in ages, every evening the same. The sun would descend behind the horizon, and his eyes would either refuse to shut, or his mind be filled with nightmarish thoughts if they were forced closed. He'd not told anyone about it. Not many had the opportunity to see the toll the restlessness had taken on him, whether by his avoidance of them, or the hood that shadowed his face.

He slowly rose from his mat and staggered towards a mirror in his room, looking to his reflection with somber eyes.
The sight turned his stomach slightly. He looked half dead; his skin was pale, eyes dark from lack of sleep. He traced the scars and tattoos on his face with his index finger. They were all markers of events in his past, but now only added to his ghastly image.

"...Meh." -He turned, and looked for his blade.

After packing his things he exited the Inn leaving extra gnarl for the keeper, but avoiding the formal check-out. His mind wandered as he himself set upon an unknown path once again. Perhaps he'd stumble on another Inn before nightfall, and hopefully a bar coupled with it. If not, he had his flask, and a few bottles from his last barhop. He rolled his shoulder slightly and continued down the cobblestone path.

Author:  DoomEnforcer [ Sun Jul 10, 2016 9:00 am ]
Post subject:  Re: Shroud of Turmoil, the Life of Scipio Be'te'fer

The sound of the waves crashing against the cobblestone wall was almost lulling. Rhythmic. Much time had passed since the last battle, the last real battle. It was almost sad.

So many years had passed. So many events. A blur in the grand scheme of things.

He smiled slightly under his hood. He’d always worn it, and at this point he wasn’t even sure why. He was alone save the small pool of fresh blood collecting near his shoulder. What was the point?

So he tugged it off.

He grinned slightly. Even in his last fight, he’d given them all quick deaths – perhaps they’d call him merciful.

“So this is it, eh…?’
“I always thought there would be something more.”
“A grand funeral… or perhaps a celebration?”

He shrugged, draining his flask.
Every last drop.

“In the end I guess it really doesn’t matter.”
“We can’t all die heroes.”

He snickered a bit.
Again, waves crashed against the walls of the keep he had decide to visit.

“Well, I guess this is it.” – He said as he kissed his sword.

Normally he wouldn’t carry items of sentimental value to battle, but today was a special day.
He pulled a small feather he had kept from his childhood and placed it on the ground next to him. He wasn’t even sure where or when he had found it.

He dug deep into his satchel and produced an old piece of golden fabric. To the ordinary eye it was nothing. Years of combat and abuse had reduced his old Breg’an garb to nothing more than a rag. He tossed it towards the feather.

He choked back some mucus that had accumulated at the back of his throat.

Next, he placed the amulet Cym had given his so long ago. And next to that that the small gilded token that Lucien had given him upon his knighthood in the Forsaken. It turned his stomach watching the pile slowly build.

“...Meh. It was a good run while it lasted.” – He mustered a weak smirk.

His eyes grew heavy. He was tired.
The crashing waves seemed to grow distant. Perhaps the storm was calming.
He put his sword onto his lap and wiped the blood that had accumulated at the corner of his mouth.

“…” – Mere gurgles came from the deep of his throat.

The poison had taken effect, thankfully.
And to think he’d thought of half-filling his flask

His eyes slowly closed, and with his last breath Scipio Be’te’fer passed into the darkness.
And the waves continued to crash against the walls.

I just wanted to thank everyone who sees this! After getting back into the forums and skipping through the old journal entries of many of you I thought I’d do Scipio justice and give him an ending, albeit anticlimactic. Cheers!

Author:  Drogun [ Sun Jul 16, 2017 3:25 pm ]
Post subject:  Re: Shroud of Turmoil, the Life of Scipio Be'te'fer

Gulgur stands near the waves looking just a little somber- Hope ya don't mind iffn I be waggin meh tongue 'ere, but I remember a black clad oaf who wud change meh flag at bloodstone when, I or meh brethern, not beh lookin. Though that bugger were a thorn in meh side, he kept us on our toes! I toast a worthy foe, even iffn that bugger beh on the wrong side o' meh kin!

*salutes Blackhelm style and swigs down a hefty amount of ale

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