RuneScape Forum Archive | Book of Trials, Chapter One

Sigilius

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"Ictalia..."

Azzanadra knew not how long he stood there, caught between infinite rage and unbearable sorrow. It felt an hour, but it might have been an instant. Before he could say more, however, the commander's voice cut through the fog of hate and grief that had begun to settle over his shell-shocked mind.

"We are not alone," Jhallan decreed. "Even now, in our darkest hour, we are not alone . Our Lord Zaros is Fate himself. Surely he would not abandon us so easily. In Senntisten, good men and women still hold true to the empire. Even now they battle the rioters in the streets. Soran escaped the slaughter at the palace with the aid of these fine soldiers." He gestured at the newcomers over his shoulder. Suddenly Jhallan seemed to find his courage. A fire leapt to his eyes, and he stood tall once more. Gesturing grandly, his words rang out with a pious force, his spirit stoked by faith and righteous fury. "Somehow they spirited him past Zamorak's henchmen and out of the city, to spread the word of this grievous betrayal. They stand faithful and united, and we will stand with them. We will not allow this... this usurper to destroy all we love. We will--"

Azzanadra did not discover what exactly they would do. He heard a faint scuffling sound, like rushed footsteps across sand. Ictalia's grip on his hand tightened painfully, and she gave a faint gasp of surprise.

"Azzy?" she breathed.

Something crashed into the small of his back, and Azzanadra was sent sprawling forward, knocking into a line of soldiers. He felt the breath leave his body, and his grip slackened for an instant. Ictalia's fingers slipped through his.

Someone gave a shout of alarm. It sounded like the elf. Jhallan's magnified voice cut short midword, and someone screamed in agony. Azzanadra cracked his head on someone's armor, and his vision blurred dangerously. Rising shakily, he cast his gaze about the camp.

10-Dec-2013 09:57:26 - Last edited on 12-Dec-2013 08:54:19 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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They were fighting. The soldiers of Zaros, stunned and gathered in mourning, turned one by one as the plainclothes mercenaries took their formation from behind. Swords flashed, arcs of blood fountained up against the darkening desert sky.

"Ictalia... Where... where are you?" Azzanadra asked simply, lights popping in his eyes. Suddenly a searing pain erupted across his arm, and he howled in agony. Glancing down, he saw the runite bolt, embedded up to the feather, protruding from his bicep.

"Wha... what? "

The archers flanked the group, returning from their desert patrols. Whereas the volunteer watchmen had left the camp in full Zarosian regalia, they returned with bloody marks defacing their armor. Marks bearing the sign of twin crimson horns.

Jhallan tumbled from the podium, wounded or not Azzanadra could not say. He cared not now. Zaros was gone. Bard was dead. He had one person left in the world for him, and he'd be damned if he lost her now.

" ICTALIA! "

An armored hand seized him by the shoulder and steered him down. Moments later, a scattered volley of bolts and arrows whizzed through the air where he'd stood. Turning, he caught sight of a soldier, wide-eyed and bloody. He mouthed something inaudible against the screams and roars of bloodlust. Azzanadra caught the last few words. " ...fool! Not you too! "

Not me too? What does he...

No.

10-Dec-2013 09:57:35 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 11:08:01 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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There came a tremendous explosion. The soldier and Azzanadra glanced upward just in time to see a group of archers vanish in a cone of flames. Jhallan stood amid the wreckage of his podium, his temple bleeding freely, hands outstretched. The fire issued from his palms, and he snarled defiance. The Senntisten guards nodded to themselves and drew their daggers, advancing from behind. Azzanadra shouted a word, raised a hand. A bolt of lightning struck the leading traitor in the throat. He paused in his advance, one hand raised to his neck in confusion. When he took his hand away, the blood sprayed forth in a gory mist.

That gave the elf Soran all the time he needed. With a howl of fury he spun about and cut down the remaining guard with a flash of his blade, as Jhallan took another strike at the offending archers. The flames cast his shadow in stark relief against the distant dunes: a Mahjarrat, with a crown like eagles' wings.

The fury was gone. In its place was a cold resolve. Rising, Azzanadra briefly cast his gaze about, looking desperately for Ictalia amid the writhing bodies, but to no avail. Swearing loudly, he cast curses at the mercenaries that had dug their way into the heart of the troop column. Taking care not strike his allies, Azzanadra chanted in the Ancient Tongue, making hasty gestures with his long-fingered hands. His pronunciation might have been a tad improvised, but nevertheless bolts of white, green, and purple light lanced forth to smite his false brothers. Spinning, he picked off a mercenary as he prepared to strike the killing blow upon a battlemage, the bolt cleanly cleaving his head in two. Someone was screaming bloody vengeance. It took Azzanadra a moment to realize it was him.

10-Dec-2013 09:57:46 - Last edited on 12-Dec-2013 08:59:45 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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The battle was like none he had experienced before, the wars of attrition with the roaming Kharidian forces amid the endless dunes. This was here, this was now . There was nothing else but the fight, the overwhelming desire to kill those who had called themselves his friends. A ranger hefted a crossbow, pulled the trigger. A flick of his finger sent the shot careening off, back into the assailant's heart.

We will not die here. And they will not escape me.

How long they fought, Azzanadra never knew. Hunkered among the camp's wreckage, the Zarosians slowly repelled the attack. By the time the last traitor had fallen or fled into the dunes, the skies had darkened, and Azzanadra became aware of the sudden chill. Blood that was not his was as ice against his skin, soaking through is robes.

Where once the company had numbered sixty three, fifteen soldiers remained standing. Eight more lay screaming into the desert twilight. Azzanadra knew he should have felt pity for them, but he had eyes only for one.

It took him but a second to spot her, white as starlight amid the burnt wreckage and dark, armored bodies. As he knelt by her side, he gazed lovingly at the familiar face, a face he had known his whole life. Eyes that had flashed with anger and joy, mirth and sorrow, now gazed peacefully at the Kharidian sky, reflecting the low firelight. Lips that had issued a thousand laughs and insults, kindnesses and songs; lips that he had kissed but once, by the light of a thousand lanterns one night in Senntisten, now parted in a final gasp, a final word.

Azzy...

10-Dec-2013 09:57:58 - Last edited on 12-Dec-2013 09:04:46 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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The Mahjarrat boy sank to his knees. Drawing her close, he shut his eyes.

The rage was gone. In its place there was only sorrow. He kept no secrets from the gathering dark. His tears flowed as he shook, his wails rose above the dunes, and he cared not who knew. He became aware of someone watching him, but he cared not enough to look. He knew it was Jhallan.

After a time the watcher left, weary footsteps retreating across the sand. Azzanadra knelt there through the twilight, until the sun's last rays departed over the distant dunes. The soldiers tended to the dead and dying. Their cries of anguish were but echoes of his own.

When at last he opened his eyes, he dared not look upon her. He rose unsteadily at first, ready for more tears to come. None came. To his infinite surprise, Azzanadra felt nothing inside; no anger, no sadness. Their absence somehow comforted him The emptiness was oddly comforting, a quiet stranger within his broken heart. A silent friend.

Without a thought he ripped the bolt from his arm, searing the wound with a conjured flame. The pain was not his own.

The damage was assessed, the bodies gathered and prayed over. As the surviving soldiers set to work with spades amid the shifting sands, Azzanadra sought out his master.

Instead he found the elf, bloodied and bruised, battered worse than ever before. He stood near the command pavilion, now half-burned and smoldering quietly. His disfigured face wore a passive look, hazel eyes turned skyward in quiet contemplation, hands clasped in the small of his back.

Without turning around, the emissary said, "Forinthry has fallen. I imagine the cracks have been forming for a long time. All it took was a single stab, and it all fell apart." He cursed to himself and laughed lowly. "This is only the beginning you know. Day by bloody day we will dwindle and die. My guards were his agents. There is no one we can trust. Zamorak's treachery reached farther than I could have feared."

10-Dec-2013 09:58:04 - Last edited on 12-Dec-2013 09:08:55 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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Azzanadra said nothing.

The elf didn't seem to mind. "I tried to warn him, you know. Your master. I knew Zamorak would have infiltrated the armies long before. Jhallan trusted his men." The elf spat blood on the sand. It was already red. "Look where trust got us."

"He's gone." It wasn't a question.

"Aye." Soran hung his head, suddenly more tired than he had ever been in his extended lifetime. "Even the faithful fall by the wayside. There is nothing left to have faith in anymore."

The elf produced a pipe from the folds of his robes. Lighting it nonchalantly, he turned to consider the work of the soldiers. "And yet they go on. Fools. They'd live longer if they turned their cloaks. Purple," he laughed derisively. "Terrible color for a cloak, in hindsight. Zamorak never wore his. At heart, everyone bleeds red. I suppose he knew that."

The voice that issued forth from his mouth was unfamiliar. It was calm, unnaturally so. "And yet here you are. You could have put your blade in Master-- in Jhallan's back. But you helped us." A pause. "Thank you."

"Yes, well, perhaps I've lived too long already."

"Perhaps we haven't lived long enough."

Soran shot Azzanadra a puzzled look. "You're pale, even for one of your kind. You're in shock."

"No," Azzanadra insisted. "Suddenly everything's very clear. I'm empty. And it feels good."

Here the elf actually laughed, long and hard. Smoke rose from the glowing embers of his pipe. When he deigned to speak, it was with pity. "Don't flatter yourself, boy. Zaros was the empty one. Look where it got him. If you really want to keep going, to survive, you'd best realize that you're haunted now. You will never forget this day. You might feel empty tonight, but come sunrise you'll cry again. And you'll scream. Embrace it. That's how you'll survive."

"I want to fight."

10-Dec-2013 10:15:35 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 11:15:35 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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"Then you'll be needing that pain all the more. It'll drive you mad, but you'll have to be mad to be Zarosian after tonight. I imagine our story here is playing out across the empire, right now. By dawn our numbers will be halved. With luck we might retake the city, with Zamorak gone."

Azzanadra felt something small, a sort of quiet pleasure. "He's gone? Our Lord took him with him?"

"No. The other gods. They didn't take kindly to the Scourge of the Battlefield upsetting the balance of power. There's a storm coming now, boy. I thought we might have had a chance, before this. A chance to regain our empire. Now... now we just need to survive."

"Will you help? You were there. When... when Zaros was lost. People will follow you."

"Me? No. In the last fortnight I've aged a century. Perhaps I've gone mad. I'm more annoyed with the world now than furious, or even frightened. Does that make me mad? And most of the other generals will have died tonight as well, I'd imagine. The Dragon Riders are nowhere to be found. As for the rest, they'll have fled like your friend--"

"He's not my friend." Azzanadra felt emotion color his words again.

"--or they'll have turned their cloaks. The bishops will try and maintain order. Maybe they will. But the people need a leader." Soran considered the purple-black sky in silence for a moment. "They need a champion."

Azzanadra felt anger begin to creep back into his heart. Grief wouldn't be far behind, he knew. "Jhallan... he survived. He was the last warpriest. He could have done something. He could have lead the people." He gritted his teeth, his lips breaking into a snarl. "He's a coward ."

10-Dec-2013 10:15:41 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 10:35:31 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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"I've known Jhallan for quite some time," Soran mused quietly, toying with his pipe. "He's seen more of war than either of us. Perhaps that was the problem. I saw him go, you know. He looked at me with these... tired eyes. Like he was asking me to stop him. But you do him an injustice. He saved our lives. Perhaps he's done fighting. Perhaps losing his faith was the final straw. Whatever you think, Azzanadra, your master was no fool. He left something. Perhaps it's for you."

The elf plucked something out of the sand by his feet. He tossed it casually to the young Mahjarrat, and Azzanadra had to fumble to catch it. It was surprisingly heavy, a work of metal masterfully shaped into a purple-red circlet. Two wings fanned out from the warpriests' crown. Azzanadra turned it over in his hands, at a loss.

"If I know my religion," the elf muttered offhandedly, "That is what you'd call a symbol. A symbol of what? Now, that I don't know. Tradition? The true Zarosian way?" He chuckled. "Bad fashion sense? Does it matter? People would have followed him. For all of Zamorak's treachery, he cannot destroy their faith. And I suppose we are at war now, if we weren't before. A warpriest might not be such an outdated idea after all."

Azzanadra frowned, his pale features bright against the evening dark. "Jhallan is gone. What can I do? I'm no leader."

"Perhaps your master knows you better than you do. You seem a smart boy," Soran said absently. "But you're wrong about one thing: Jhallan was not the last warpriest."
With that Soran turned and made his way downhill. Weaving through the wreckage, he approached the remnants of the battalion in silence.

That's all we are now. Remnants.

10-Dec-2013 10:15:46 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 10:28:11 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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Azzanadra considered the crown in his hands. By dawn the generals will be dead or defected. The military is broken. But the people remain true. We can't abandon them.

The crown felt odd perched on his hooded head. Azzanadra let go of it slowly for fear it might topple off. It's weight was extremely uncomfortable, and he longed to remove it. But an image leaped unbidden to his mind: a tall Mahjarrat, standing amongst the fire, his winged crown casting long shadows, inspiring the broken men to fight. Inspiring him to fight. With a faint sigh, he left the crown in place.

Maybe we are remnants. Just broken pieces. But what is broken can be reforged.

Come dawn, they'd have to move swiftly. There were four other Kharidian camps. Like as not they'd have been attacked from within as well. We can't abandon them, he repeated to himself. He considered the soldiers below, moving with tired determination by the light of their burning world.

The Faithful still stand. They'll need a leader. Someone to show them that Zaros is not gone, at least not in spirit. A champion.

But first...

With quiet steps he advanced down the dune. He drifted silently through the wreckage and the ruin, a vision of the old faith. The soldiers halted their work as he moved by, observing in silence. When they moved again, was it his imagination, or did they move a little faster?

10-Dec-2013 10:15:52 - Last edited on 13-Mar-2014 12:00:11 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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Azzanadra tried to prepare himself, knowing what was to come, but to no avail. When he looked upon her the grief welled up inside him once again. He felt the urge to lie down beside her, lie down and die. But he knew that would not do. There were others, others they both cared about. Bard, and Wahisietal, Soran, even Jhallan.

He knelt in silence. This time he did not fight the tears. "Ictalia..." Azzanadra whispered tenderly. Her pale face gazed off at something he could not see. "I couldn't save you," he confessed, his voice breaking. "But I will save the rest. I promise you... my love."

With a gentle touch he put a smile on her beautiful face, a smile he had seen every day before, and now for the last time. Her eyes he left open, gazing up at the endless desert sky.

Gazing at the stars.

Azzanadra prayed. Whether something heard his prayer, he did not know. But he prayed nonetheless. He prayed to the night, and to the shadow, and to the emptiness. He prayed not for Zaros, or Ictalia. They were beyond his help. He prayed for himself, for the strength to face the coming days, cold and forsaken and alone.

The boy knelt. The Champion rose.

He did not sleep for a long while afterward, but when Azzanadra did finally lay himself down, he dreamed a dream of Forinthry. Of lanterns, and stars...

And her.

10-Dec-2013 10:27:06 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 11:21:39 by Sigilius

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Book of Trials, Chapter One