RuneScape Forum Archive | Book of Trials, Chapter One

Sigilius

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"...and the Commander will be making a statement soon. I have letters from your families, which -- please, please, one at a time-- one at a time! " The herald licked his parched lips, frenzied eyes darting across the assembled denizens. The commander had ordered the entire camp to gather to receive the news as it came from great Senntisten to the north. All the tents had emptied, and little more than a volunteer skeleton crew maintained the watch along the desert camp's perimeter. At the back of the retinue, two young soldiers argued heatedly. Despite their youth, they easily stood a head above the tallest human, their ceremonial battle hoods hastily drawn over their ridged scalps.

"I heard that the Blue God attacked the Divine Palace," Ictalia whispered, her bone-white face leaning close to be heard above the alarmed chatter. "His winged sentinels were seen about the parapets, they say."

"No. That can't be right. We have peace with Hallowvale. It's tenuous, but my master says it's there. Why would Saradomin attack us? The Blue Giant could not withstand our lord's divine fury, false god that he is." The young Mahjarrat scoffed, running a pale hand over his head-fringe in a vain attempt to appear self-assured. The arid Kharidian climate had taken its toll on his skin, and he'd always been self-conscious of his brow, especially around Ictalia. In spite of the sense of unease pervading the ranks, he flushed with embarrassment as he considered her symmetrical, icy features. At least, he blushed as much as any Mahjarrat could.

Ictalia's delicate brow ridge furrowed in exasperation as she scowled openly at him, dark eyes flashing. "By Zaros, you've been a warpriest's apprentice for scarcely a year and already you think yourself Archbishop. What happened to the boy I grew up with?"

10-Dec-2013 09:54:04 - Last edited on 12-Dec-2013 08:28:38 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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"We're at war. We all have to grow up sometime," he growled, mirroring her grimace. "And Master Jhallan says I show great promise!" The boy struggled to maintain his look of wise severity, stroking his scalp thoughtfully.

She laughed, and her airy voice made his heart flutter. "Of course he would. You'd badger him to no end until he said otherwise. And if you pick at your scalp again I'll strike you. So help me Azzy, you can be so vain ." Even as she said it she spared him a furtive sidelong glance, grinning slightly, exposing her lioness's teeth.

"I told you to stop calling me that!" he hissed, his bone-white features turning the faintest shade of pink, like a drop of watered wine on snow. "These humans will never respect us if we keep acting like children. We're adults now, and I'm a warpriest ." He smirked smugly at that, turning his nose skyward.

"Warpriest's apprentice ," Ictalia corrected. She seemed to delight in the distinction. "Face it, Azzy, you're still one of us mere mortals for now." She punched his arm, grinning all the wider. Her eyes shone playfully. "But have it your way, Azzanadra . Could your mother have picked a more stodgy name? No wonder you want to be a cleric. Have you seen that hat your master wears? Talk about clinging to the past. He looks like a bat, what with those two wonky spikes on it."

Azzanadra's look of pride melted into sullen defiance. "Master Jhallan is a warpriest, just like I a-- just like I will be when we return from this campaign." He lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment. "But I grant you, the hat is stupid, Icky."

10-Dec-2013 09:56:24 - Last edited on 13-Dec-2013 22:23:37 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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" Don't call me that," Ictalia replied crossly. "You know I hate that. Or would you like me to bring back Azzy ?" She beamed, her lips curling into a wry smile. Azzanadra's sudden silence served as her answer. " Thank you . Anyway, the warpriests are dying out. No Mahjarrat are signing up anymore. Why do you think Master Jhallan was so eager to have you? The field's overrun with humans." Ictalia caught a guardswoman glaring at her, and she flushed with embarrassment. "Not that that's a bad thing!" she went on, somewhat louder. Azzanadra guffawed.

She had a point though. "Look," Azzanadra began, "I know the uniform is a bit archaic, but it's a tradition. An important one. How else are we going to preserve the Sacred Curses? They're all that separates our priests from Saradomin's on the battlefield."

Ictalia stretched, catlike, to illustrate her lack of concern. In the distance the herald squabbled with a cadre of soldiers, each in turn demanding information about the situation in the Holy City. " Hmm , I don't know. You could always ask Zaros. I doubt he's likely to forget them. Or, you know what, I hear Armadyl's come out with a new invention, cutting-edge. It's something called a book , Azzy, and you can write all your little spells in it." She made a needlessly intricate hand gesture to accentuate her point. Before he could squawk in protest Ictalia ruffled his amethyst hood.

Taking a moment to readjust his cowl, Azzanadra shot her what he hoped would be a seething glance, like what Master Wahisietal had given him when he'd spilled tea on the old soldier's robe. But her pretty features wore a look of mischief, and he lost his frustration in the dark shimmer of her eyes. After a moment he realized he must have stared too long, and he covered it up with a hearty cough.

10-Dec-2013 09:56:31 - Last edited on 12-Dec-2013 08:37:14 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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Straightening the line of his robe, he mused, "Perhaps you're right. No one respects the warpriest's crown anymore. Master Jhallan's is the only one I've seen since the one in the mu--" He quickly bit his tongue, wincing, but the damage was done.

Ictalia gave him a look of pure joy. "What? What were you going to say? Mu... ? What was that?" She put a hand to her ear mockingly. "Mu..... Could it be... No... The museum , Azzy? In Upper Senntisten? Oh , oh that's so sad ." She broke off into a peal of ringing laughter, resting a petite hand on his bicep. Azzanadra might have resembled a tall, bony human, his face was so pink. Mahjarrat numbers had always been few, and breeding pairs were carefully selected, but somewhere inside, very near his heart, Azzanadra had always known who he wanted. He never had the courage to ask her directly, dear Zaros no. There'll be time later for that. Maybe once I'm a true warpriest.

Yes, maybe then.

Even so, that hadn't stopped him from asking her to the Festival of Lights, the moon before they were dispatched to Kharidia. All of Senntisten had glowed from within, as Zaros's master firemakers doubled the stars in the sky with their beautiful lanterns. On some secluded rooftop they'd considered the heavens, pondering what Zaros had in store for them. They had shared a single kiss, as the stars looked on.

Azzanadra thought of that night often.

10-Dec-2013 09:56:38 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 21:14:46 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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"Look, it's not like I'm noble stock," he mused aloud, keen to keep his mind on matters at hand. "The only reason I'm here-- we're here, let's face it-- is because we're Mahjarrat. This is my best chance to make a difference, to serve our Great Lord. I mean, even General Zamorak had to start somewhere, right?"

"Oh not this again. The man autographs your hymnal at one war rally and suddenly he's a god or something."

"General Zamorak is an inspiration," Azzanadra contended hotly. "Were it not for his tactical genius the Saradominists would have spread from Hallowvale like the plague during the last border war. I just want to do my part. For Zaros."

Ictalia's expression softened into something approaching pity. " Azzy ," she whispered, embracing him. "You're a wonderful man. Absolutely no fun at all, but I suppose not everyone can be as dashing as Zamorak." She stuck her tongue in his direction cheekily, an unfortunate habit she'd picked up from the humans. Secretly he loved it.

Then Azzanadra remembered the whispers that had been making the rounds for the past fortnight, hushed words of chaos and despair. Whispers from the Divine Palace. His good humor fell away, to be replaced by a faint frown.

"Oh dear Zaros, you've got that look again."

"What look?"

"The one that makes you look like a constipated imp. What's wrong?"

Azzanadra chose to ignore the jab. "I heard some of the rumors too. Some kind of accident at the Palace," he intoned quietly, black-yellow eyes distant.

Ictalia knew better than to tease him when he got all introspective. "Hey. Hey . Your uncle's fine. I know for a fact that General Zamorak was there. He wouldn't have let anything bad happen. Not to mention Lord Zaros. Your uncle couldn't be safer."

"He's not really my uncle--"

10-Dec-2013 09:56:44 - Last edited on 12-Dec-2013 08:41:30 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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"You don't say, dummy? I figured as much when I realized he was human. And he was there for me too, you know. He's a tough old bird, Captain Bard is. Only human to raise two Mahjarrat through adolescence. Granted, it took up most of his little human life, Zaros bless him." In spite of her blunt words, Ictalia's dark eyes might have misted slightly. "I'm sure he's more than well. But he'll take his cane up with you if he hears you've gone soft on him. Well, softer." There was that tongue again. Azzanadra smiled in spite of himself.

There came a general outcry from the ranks of humans. The Kharidian sun glinted off their purple-trimmed armor, and Azzanadra suddenly became aware of just how oppressive the late afternoon heat was crammed amongst the soldiers. A few mercenaries had disrespectfully stripped themselves of their cumbersome armor, and stood chatting near the rear of the camp, but from where he stood the heat was stifling. No wonder we drink barrels of water a day. Usually the baggage train out of Senntisten kept the Kharidian camps well-supplied, but in the last few days support had halted altogether. Questions had been asked, worries noted. Commander Jhallan had done his best to keep order, with admirable results. Supplies were wearing thin, but he'd assured Azzanadra personally the night before that all would be settled once word got back from Senntisten.

The emissary had arrived with letters, which he'd handed off to the herald before secluding himself in the command tent. Up until now the purple-gold pavilion had remained fast-shut against the crowd, but now the flap flew open to admit a small party. At its head strode Commander Jhallan, one of the most experienced officers of the Zarosian Army, a certified warpriest and, in recent moons, Azzanadra's mentor.

10-Dec-2013 09:56:50 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 10:55:18 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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He moved stiffly, as though burdened by some great weight that had not bothered him before entering the tent, his purple-black robes swirling in his wake. Atop his head he wore the much-maligned warpriests' crown, a purple-red circlet that branched from a V at his forehead, encircling his skull before fanning upward on either side into two, foot-long prongs. Azzanadra preferred to think of them as noble eagles' wings. Ictalia called them jackal ears. Among Mahjarrat that was an insult.

Behind the commander came the emissary, a grim-faced elf that Azzanadra had seen on previous occasions. He'd arrived several hours ago from Senntisten, clearly the worse for wear. Ictalia hadn't gotten a good look, but she claimed that he sported a face-long scar, running from his temple to his chin on the opposite side. Azzanadra's Mahjarrat eyes easily made out the distant figure's features, and he had to suppress a gasp. The scar was brutally fresh, barely a few weeks old. The mark was red and jagged, and was Azzanadra mistaken, or had one of the elf's ears been cut short?

Suddenly the situation seemed much more real.

A few guardsman sporting Senntisten's heraldry escorted the group, their features unreadable in the shadow cast by their deep helmets.

Commander Jhallan approached the impromptu podium the men had built from several pallets, alighting on it with difficulty. He wasn't much to look at now, haggard and weary, but Azzanadra had heard stories of his feats of strength during the original Kharidian-Zarosian conflicts, when Zaros had stolen the Mahjarrat from under Icthlarin's thumb.

The soldiers continued to chatter among themselves angrily. No one had managed to get their letters, the herald held onto them so hard. With a loud clearing of his throat and a wave of his alabaster-white hand Commander Jhallan called for order. The silence was slow in coming, so he emitted a ray of purple-black fire from an outstretched palm. It lanced into the sky.

10-Dec-2013 09:56:59 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 10:56:35 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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For a time Jhallan said nothing, his recently rejuvenated features somehow managing to appear more skull-like than ever before. Azzanadra had never known his master to seem so meek. The commander swallowed nervously, but still silence reigned. Azzanadra could hear the faint howl of the approaching evening wind, and Ictalia's gentle breathing beside him. In spite of himself, he smiled marginally.

The emissary shot Jhallan an urgent look, and at length the commander spoke. His voice was haggard and tremulous at first, unlike anything Azzanadra had heard before. The warpriest's crown sat loosely on his skull, casting a fell shadow across his bony white face. "My... my comrades... My friends... I have received... Terrible news."

A swallow. Azzanadra and Ictalia exchanged confused glances.

"Word has... Has reached my ears... From... From fair Senntisten." The commander seemed unable to draw enough breath. He gripped his staff for support, suddenly seeming a Mahjarrat centuries older. "My friend Soran here brings ill tidings. Some of you may have heard tell of a disruption in the Holy City. Rumors are circulating regarding the Blue God's Iceyne within the City's walls."

Ictalia did not gloat. Her face was set in stone.

"Soran... Soran tells me that we... We have been betrayed."

Azzanadra felt his heart skip a beat. The crowd stirred restlessly, but kept their silence.

"The betrayal," Jhallan went on, "Came from the highest circles of power. One of Zaros's most trusted advisors has turned against Forinthry, our Great Lord, and all of you." He seemed to sag inward, as though his very bones were failing him. Even though he stood far above the crowd, Jhallan suddenly seemed very small. His eyes had grown sunken, as though he had been decades since his last rejuvenation. Taking a rasping breath, he drew himself upright, and for a brief moment it seemed he might recover his old charisma.

10-Dec-2013 09:57:08 - Last edited on 12-Dec-2013 08:52:53 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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The elder Mahjarrat's expression looked pained, and his lips worked soundlessly for a moment, as though he loathed to utter the words. "General Zamorak, in the ultimate act of treason and heresy... has assaulted the Divine Palace. A band of traitors have slain the Grand Elocutor and, we have to assume, all the Palace's inhabitants. Rebels throughout Senntisten have set the Holy City to the torch. Our forces struggle to maintain our hold. Word has reached us of similar rebellions across the empire."

Someone shouted something incoherent, followed by another, and another. In a moment the entire crowd was screaming, gesturing and crying out. In the crazed din Azzanadra could not make out a single word, and he didn't bother trying. He was far too busy trying to piece together what he had already heard, but could not possibly believe.

Zamorak? General Zamorak? He has betrayed us?

Impossible. How could such a thing be true? Surely the emissary was mistaken. Ictalia shouted something at him, but whether because of the cacophony or the blood rushing in his ears, Azzanadra could not understand her.

Jhallan banged his staff against the wooden platform, and his voice rang out, magnified tenfold, yet somehow it remained just as small and weak as it had been before. "Zamorak has acquired an Elder Relic. He... he used it to impale our Lord. Soran himself witnessed this."

All at once, all sound ceased. Even the wind dared not blow through their midst. Within the gathering dark of the desert, all was still.

Jhallan took a shaking breath. "Zaros... is gone."

No one moved. All eyes remained fixated on the dwindling Mahjarrat. There could be no response. Commander Jhallan had just said the impossible.

Azzanadra became dully aware that someone was holding his hand. Ictalia's fingers slipped between his, squeezing his hand painfully.

10-Dec-2013 09:57:14 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 11:02:11 by Sigilius

Sigilius

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My lord Zaros... He... He can't be... Gone. He felt nothing. No anger, no fear, only a crippling chill where his heart should have been.

Then he remembered Captain Bard. The young officer who had tutored him, raised him , at the Divine Palace, even when his own kind were too busy dying in foreign wars to care. He had been a firm master out of necessity, for how else would he have survived training two Mahjarrat?

He taught me how to pray... He taught me to love Zaros.

Then Jhallan's words fully registered with him.

He slew everyone in the Divine Palace. He slew Zaros. He slew Bard.

A single word found its way to his pale lips, slipping forth like an oiled serpent. He spat it out, disgusted with the venomous snake of a name that he had allowed so close to his heart.

" Zamorak... "

A black rage gripped his heart, a darkness he had never known before. It was cold, and it was painful. Tears welled in his eyes. But it was something , something to feel, something to hold onto. His fingers returned Ictalia's pressure, and in that touch Azzanadra tried to find solace, but he could not. The dark chill radiated from somewhere deep within his chest, and he found his limbs tensed for action. What action, he could not say.

What do I do?

A faint sound drew his attention, a stifled sob. Turning, he caught sight of Ictalia. All his life Azzanadra had known her, this daring, irreverent girl. The last place he'd ever expect to find her was at the chapel, save when Bard dragged her there. And yet now, her frost-white features might as well have been etched from stone. No smiles, no scowls, nothing, save a lone tear that ran down her bony cheek.

10-Dec-2013 09:57:20 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2013 11:03:19 by Sigilius

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Book of Trials, Chapter One