Yesterdays #Writestorm did something, it enabled me to find the interest to write another chapter for my newly started Book 3 of the Rise of the Elohim Chronicles. (Sorry Scars & Souvenirs, it’s to the shelf with you, along with Dead Memories, Sick Like Me and Dead Memories pt1, but be fair, I’ve still yet to start London Falling, The Score, The Brotherhood and The Devil You Don’t, so play nice.)
This is Chapter 2 of Book 3 in the ROTE Chronicles:
A Past not Forgotten
The man in dark robe looked round his room, searching for his bed. He needn’t have drunken as much as he did, but that didn’t stop him from finishing an entire barrel of ale.
A foolhardy move for a man whose lips had not touched alcohol in over a decade, but it was necessary. He needed further services from the Captain who sailed him to Retina, services that would have the Captain come back for him within a couple of weeks.
Had he made such a request when the Captain fearful of returning to the village suffering from an outbreak of an unknown diseased, the man’s request would have been denied outright. But to ask such a favour when the man was completely drunk out of his senses but with his first mate sober enough to remember all, of course the Captain was pleased to oblige.
But the Captain was the kind of man who doesn’t like to drink alone, and seated with a tea-total first mate, of course the man in the hood, the Elohim, had to drink with him.
He collapsed onto his bed as he thought of his home world, a world from removed from Oceania and the lands known as Sancti.
His people, referred to as the most talented of all Watchers, were something far more. Known to some worlds as the Shining Ones, to other worlds such as Earth, they were called Angels.
The most divine warriors across the entire universe, the ones without equal until they turned upon each other absent opponent. Even those most holy need a worthy adversary to keep them united.
The Elohim imaged his son, a boy of light, a true symbol of the divine, but their golden land of celestial light was soon to see its end.
The revolt was underway and already the fallen sought to triumph those who remained devoted to the light. A divide that tore even brothers apart.
Images of the fight against his younger brother flooded his mind and shrug them off, he could not. That was the Elohim’s biggest problem when it came to drinking, everything he sought to deny, the things he wished to forget would also come rushing back.
But at least the images brought with them the picture of his first love, the woman he would lose to another when she discovered her true soul mate. That was the way of the Elohim, marriage did not exist, only pure love. The fist innocent love and then the true love that would last for all eternity.
The Elohim found himself praying for sleep to come and send him on his way, tomorrow was going to be a long day, especially when the morning would see him dealing with the aftermath of his night’s drinking.
Before his eyes, his son appeared once more, during the time of the great war on their planet, the War of the Aeons. His son was beside him, fighting in battle during the night they found themselves alone, surrounded by a sea of their enemies.
After a week of endless battle, they stood atop a mountain of corpses. Their swords engulfed with blood and their breaths heavy.
This was the day his son was lost to him, not in death, but a vow, a vow to never fight beside his father ever again. A vow that would see him renounce the ways of the Elohim and sent him straight into the arms of those he slaughtered.
The father never saw his son again. Not once in the hundreds of thousands of years that have passed since.
“I have never forgot about you my son.” The Elohim slurred before at last, the sweet bliss of slumber graced him with open arms and carried him off into the land of nod.