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Book of Trials, Chapter Two

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Sigilius

Sigilius

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From their vantage point atop the ridge, the scouting party took a commanding view of the situation below.

It wasn’t encouraging.

Lying prone, the Kharidian spy let out a low whistle, unafraid of detection. The pre-dawn wind buffeted the mesa, casting sand about in twisting torrents and howling amidst the crags. Taking care to move slowly, she risked another glance over the jagged sandstone that afforded her cover.

The camp had been fortified since last night. Battlements that once stood shattered now bristled with makeshift defences, dotted with vicious spears to discourage visitors. Dark figures patrolled along the perimeter, heads lowered against the relentless wind.

She smiled fiercely. The land rejects them. Even the sands are offended by their presence. The wind is with us.

“Word must have reached them from Camp Four,” the soldier to her left growled, frustration coloring her words. Despite having slit the throat of the camp’s ridge patrolman, she remained tense, suspicious of a surprise attack. The spy caught a glimpse of ebony platemail beneath her beige robes, scuffed and dull. “We should have struck both bases at once. Now they’ve dug in.”

The Kharidian woman tested the resistance of her bowstring with a hooked finger. Evidently satisfied with the result, she replied, “They had the numbers on us before. Even with surprise on our side we barely took the camp. With Four’s prisoners restored to us and its traitors in the ground we now have the advantage.”

“They’ve built ballistae .”

“We have him .”

The soldier bit her tongue at that, nodding in grudging agreement. “I’ve never seen lightning strike so true before. Their demon vanished .” Pausing to peer over the embankment briefly, she mused, “If only we’d rallied sooner. We might have saved Camp Two.” She spared her companion a meaningful glance.

27-Jan-2014 23:38:07 - Last edited on 27-Jan-2014 23:40:25 by Sigilius

Sigilius

Sigilius

Posts: 329 Silver Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The spy’s emerald eyes grew weary at the memory. “My settlement was well-known for its sympathies with your empire. But we were loyal to your faith, not your army. When your commanders turned their cloaks, they must have thought we would resist. We were not prepared for the attack. They took our town within an hour. Their demon spared us the sword so that he could eat my people, one by one. Were it not for the Champion my family would be dead.”

“That rescue cost us Two.” The soldier’s words were heavy with resentment. “I had friends in there. I know they put up a good fight. We could have used them.”

“I am sorry for your loss.” The words tasted hollow, but she knew not what else to say.

Indeed, the Legion of Retribution had suffered a heavy blow when the enemy put Camp Two to the torch. They had refused to surrender to the traitors, and the Champion had hoped that the soldiers there might have held out longer while the main force evacuated the town. He had asked for nothing in return, warning the people to make for the coast, but his noble charisma was intoxicating, although he did not seem to realize it.

Twenty able-bodied townsfolk joined the Legion’s ranks, herself included. Neya, for that was her name, could not truly say why she did so. Her love for the Empty God was part of it, yes. She had been raised in Zarosian territory, and the Faith was very old there.

But the Champion… He was something new . His amethyst vestments were of olden times, but his nonhuman face wore a look of such iron purpose and fierce conviction that it was all but impossible not to be swept up in his fiery wake. It was a young face, too, handsome in an alien sort of way. When he spoke, it was with the voice of a young man, but the authority of a king.

27-Jan-2014 23:38:16 - Last edited on 28-Jan-2014 00:06:12 by Sigilius

Sigilius

Sigilius

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It was his magic that smote the demon as it toyed with her grandfather, his resolve that galvanized her to take up a weapon and follow him. The only time she had seen his pale features visibly shaken was when he beheld the cost of his heroism: the smoking ruin of Camp Two.

Neya learned quickly from her fellow loyalists that the Champion, the one they called Azzanadra, had survived the Zamorakians’ assault on Camp One, despite the more brutal measures the traitors had taken to exterminate the command center. Whereas other survivors reported imprisonment of soldiers, especially Mahjarrat, for conversion, Camp One had been slated for total annihilation. Whispers around the supply train had it that the young Champion had lost his master and his friend in a single hour.

Over the next few days the Legion had seized camps Four and Five, liberating more than half a hundred loyal Zarosians from each. But no one forgot the sacrifice of Two. Neya took it upon herself to thank her savior in person, but the one time she managed to find him in the disorganized, roving camp he was praying at a makeshift altar.

Praying for forgiveness. She could only assume it was for sacrificing the men and women of Camp Two.

They had seized, aside from the reinforcements, runes and other weapons to arm their troops, as well as enough provisions to keep the Legion fed for another moon at least. Unlike most of their brethren, six demons resisted the commands of their treacherous generals, at great personal pain. The Zarosians had feared the demons would have to be destroyed, but the Champion’s enigmatic advisor, Soran, succeeded in transferring their fealty from their corrupt pact-holders to Azzanadra on a technicality, to the relief of both parties.

27-Jan-2014 23:38:24 - Last edited on 28-Jan-2014 00:09:19 by Sigilius

Sigilius

Sigilius

Posts: 329 Silver Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
But what truly had the mealtime campfires in high spirits was the recovery of two surviving Mahjarrat. Wahisietal the Elder had been advisor to Commander Jhallan, thought executed during the siege of Camp Five. Neya had seen the Champion weep for joy openly when they brought the battered but very much alive Mahjarrat before him. Rumor had it that Azzanadra had offered the command to him. As to why Wahisietal refused, no one could say. Neya had her suspicions however.

He is not the Champion.

The other Mahjarrat had happily agreed to turn his cloak when approached by the Zamorakians at Camp Four, accepting the command position therein. That night he summoned the three chief rebel officers to his quarters. There was the sound of a scuffle from within, and a single terrified scream.

The Zamorakian soldiers found neither their masters nor the Mahjarrat, only a note pinned to the table: Gone fishing. –S.

When Azzanadra liberated that camp, the mysterious Mahjarrat reappeared as if from a burst of shadow. Neya had almost shot him with her bow. As opposed to his open embrace of Wahisietal, Azzanadra treated this one with caution. It was not until the shadow-delver snapped his fingers and conjured three wights in Zamorakian generals’ garb that he was welcomed, too.

Now the Champion made plans with his Mahjarrat kin and the elf Soran. For two days the Legion had been idle, eating away at their supplies and travelling by night to avoid detection by the surviving Zamorakians. The Zarosians knew the time had come to take the fight to Camp Three, here at the heart of the Kharidian desert. The question on everyone’s mind was how it should be done. While the Legion had stormed the other camps, growing slowly but steadily in size, the Zamorakians had withdrawn and consolidated their power. Ballistae dotted the wooden battlements, and the watchtower boasted a bizarre creature that was somehow all eyes and nothing else.

27-Jan-2014 23:38:31 - Last edited on 27-Jan-2014 23:43:50 by Sigilius

Sigilius

Sigilius

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“We should just bombard the site,” the woman soldier reasserted, her pale northerner’s face as grim as ever. Neya thought her name was Ellara, but she couldn’t be sure. The sergeant’s blue eyes peeked suspiciously over the ridge once more. Her impatience was beginning to show. “We’ve lost too many good soldiers taking the rest. We have demons and three Mahjarrat, and our battlemages have enough runes to lay siege for days.”

Neya still felt a pang of guilt, knowing full-well Ellara blamed her for the loss of Two. Irrational as it was, she could not bring herself to tell off the angry soldier. “Ellara,” she said tentatively, trying out the name. When the soldier glanced in her direction, she went on. “The Shadowy One tells us the Zamorakians have hostages, including two more Mahjarrat. If we obliterate them we will murder our friends. If we lay siege they will attempt to use them against us. We must follow the plan.”

Ellara wore a look of pure venom. “You revere the Mahjarrat too much, Kharidian. Do not forget it was a Mahjarrat who toppled our world.”

“The Champion—” Neya began, shocked, but Ellara would have none of it.

“—is a boy . For all his power, he is scarcely more than a child. He is no soldier. You see how he makes decisions with his heart, abandoning Two to play hero elsewhere. And now he does it again, believing that slippery Mahjarrat’s plan. This is war . You have to learn to make sacrifices, the right sacrifices , and so far he’s made all the wrong ones.” Ellara spared Neya a withering glance. “And I’ve seen how you look at him, like he’s some sort of god. Don’t forget who your real friends are. Mahjarrat are out only for themselves.”

Neya blushed, whether from anger or embarrassment she could not say.

27-Jan-2014 23:38:39 - Last edited on 28-Jan-2014 00:14:07 by Sigilius

Sigilius

Sigilius

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Her face flushed, and she grit her teeth as she bit back a hasty word. “You speak of protecting humans, yet you wish to destroy the camp.”

Ellara actually laughed here, a short bark. “The Shadowed One’s report speaks of Mahjarrat prisoners. This is their central base. Most every man inside is a Zamorakian. Don’t pretend this farce isn’t in the name of the rescuing their kin, not ours.” With that she inched back up the incline, training her eyes on the encampment below. Her hood matched their rocky cover almost perfectly; if the many-eyed beast was watching, it would see nothing of note.

“We are soldiers—“ the Kharidian girl insisted, ignoring Ellara’s huff of disdain. “— both of us. And we have our orders. The Champion’s plan will work. We just have to wait for the Shadowed One's sign, then contact him with our commorb.”

Something green flashed across the ridge. Ellara tensed, the sand shifting beneath her knees as she turned to meet the spy’s gaze. Her sapphire eyes flashed in the low light. When she spoke, it was with renewed professionalism, but her expression remained sour. Neya appreciated the effort.

“Well, it looks like your sign is here.”

==========

The Watcher blinked. Being an entity composed of nothing but an assortment of enormous eyes, this in and of itself was nothing remarkable. From its position nestled in the crow’s nest of the watchtower, it cast dozens of gazes across the arid desert landscape, each of them equally bored.

Two days. Two days it had been since the red mages had summoned it from the Infernal Dimensions. Two sunrises, two sunsets. Now the fiery eye in the sky began to creep over the horizon to the east, casting probing rays forth into the world as though uncertain if it wished to rouse itself from its twilit slumber. The cacti stood like silent sentinels, spiny soldiers seeking the sun’s soft shine.

27-Jan-2014 23:38:48 - Last edited on 28-Jan-2014 00:18:05 by Sigilius

Sigilius

Sigilius

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The Watcher was fond of alliteration.

Tasked to glare endlessly at the unchanging landscape, one couldn’t help but paint word pictures. It was a poet at heart. Lacking a mouth or any means of independent motion save to hover on the spot, it kept its artistic thoughts to itself.
Come to think of it, the Watcher hadn’t the foggiest idea how the Zamo-whatsits expected it to raise the alarm should it spot anything unusual.

The sand was a constant bother as well. Half the time the Watcher had to squint against it, so irritating it was. And for all its efforts, there was still no sign of anything unusual. With an internal sigh, the Watcher cast a jaundiced eye upon the endless rock and sand. Turning its attention to one of its favorite boulders, the Watcher gazed at it with halfhearted intensity. It dubbed it the Wonky Rock, and somehow it had gotten the idea into its head that it could move the stone with its mind. Countless hours of glares, stares, and encouraging winks later, and still no luck.

Fantastic.

The Watcher was giving serious thought to rolling itself off the platform in the faint hope that it could fly when something moved in its considerable field of vision. Many-colored eyes widening in mild surprise, they swiveled in their great sockets to examine the rock.

Nothing unusual presented itself at first inspection, but after countless hours of intense study the Watcher considered itself the world’s foremost authority on the Wonky Rock, and something was definitely amiss. And yet, its pockmarked, sand-blasted surface remained maddeningly unchanged. For a brief instant the Watcher wondered if it had finally succeeded in mastering the powers of telekinesis, but its joy was short-lived when, before its very eyes, the rock’s shadow moved .

27-Jan-2014 23:44:00 - Last edited on 27-Jan-2014 23:58:44 by Sigilius

Sigilius

Sigilius

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It had seen shadows shift as the day wore on, and this was not the same. The shadow twitched irregularly, and, even as the sky lightened, began to extend, ever so slowly, toward the camp.

Thoroughly impressed, the Watcher watched as the shadow broke off from the rock to dart with blinding speed to a cactus, latching on like some dark barnacle.

So focused it was on the dancing shadow that the Watcher paid no mind to the hooded figure that materialized from the gloomy floor just behind it. It was not until the newcomer stood taller than a man that the Watcher’s inactive eyes finally took notice, an impressive feat to be sure.

After considering the same static landscape for so long, this stranger was a sight for the Watcher’s many sore eyes. They widened in fascination as the white-faced creature waved cheerily, smiling a crooked smile.

The stranger spoke only once, his voice high and playful. “ Peek-a-boo ,” he crooned, dark eyes flashing as he rested a gloved hand on the Watcher’s great round body.
It became vaguely aware of a strange tugging sensation upon its whole form, but it could see no line or hook. Gazing quizzically about, it could only stare as its vast body dissolved into black mist, slowly at first, then with increasing speed.

The Watcher felt no pain as it unraveled into nothing. Slowly, its eyes darkened as they lost sight of the strange sandy world, save for one, which it kept fixated on the bony man with unbridled curiosity. He smiled knowingly, and the Watcher itched to reply in some way.

Unable to do so, it settled for composing a poem about this strange experience instead. The Watcher had just thought up a rhyme for orange when the darkness became complete.

27-Jan-2014 23:52:05 - Last edited on 01-Feb-2014 02:28:04 by Sigilius

Sigilius

Sigilius

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==========

Sliske paused in silent contemplation as the creature withered and faded into the abyss. The pull of the shadow realm emanated from his touch, rippling across its hulking form in dark waves. A lone green eye watched him balefully, holding the shadows at bay for an instant, before finally subsiding into nothingness.

Smirking coyly, he directed a clawed hand to the sky. Emerald flames columned upward, coiling playfully and casting the camp below in a sickly green radiance.
Before the camp had any idea what was going on, he had already directed the pillar of fire onto the first ballistae. It was consumed with a hearty whoosh , gunner and all.

The screams below were nothing to him. Sliske looked to the east, his cloying smile widening to expose a row of glistening white teeth.

“Your move, Azzanadra.”

27-Jan-2014 23:53:08 - Last edited on 27-Apr-2014 00:12:18 by Sigilius

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