[center] [h3]Chapter II: Immolation[/h3] [h2][i]Port City of Everyren [/i][/h2] [img]http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs39/f/2008/364/6/6/Home_at_last_____by_BenWootten.jpg[/img] [b][u]Call of Immolation[/u][/b] "Lo, the Dread And Roland mountain call To the age of sunrise Karkarth and Charlin wake Spirits from the earthen grave Five Fathers, gilded strength Loyal sons and daughters Fearless warriors born to bear Gifts of heart by laud and heir.. Faithfully by Justinian's prayer Fortresses of Eastern Lands Night Sea crossing Battles fought and victories won At the sides of noblemen From the mines of Djerad Thymar Too the fields of Krax’s hold Hear now the horns are calling Masters of fine ore and stone Kings of fields and horses Legends be they ever known Stand now against the dregs of men.” -War Hymn [/center] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The boat ride across the Sea of Night had been uneventful and boring while seeming to last forever to the oft-times feral senses of Kayun. They had been forced to of course, use a merchant ship, this one made completely of wood as opposed to chitin and other composite materials often used by Karkarth, and when the last leg of the journey had come they had stowed away in large barrels along with other supplies to be placed within a warehouse owned by House Orlious. Eighth wide barrels for each man apart of the secret force meant to open the gates. All they could risk in one trade run. Everyren’s sister city further along the coast would have its own infiltrators, but it was much smaller and less secure a place then Everyren. It had been almost complete darkness within his little wooden prison for Kayun, and the big man was glad he possessed no great fear of enclosed spaces. At least he had thought so at first. Time within that barrel had seemed even more gruelingly long than the boat ride itself somehow. When he had finally been set down within the warehouse (The men with the misfortune of carrying him cursing all the while, much to his secret amusement) then was certain they were alone. He had wasted little time in pushing the top open and kicking himself free. Try as he might he still made quite a bit of noise, but it seemed it had not attracted unwanted attention. Once clear he was glad to see the others had escaped their own coffins as well. The convenient aspect of being a part of a trading vessel from Karkarth was that their weapons came with them easy enough. One of his men was already cracking open a crate, peeling the lid free and removing straw to reveal weapons of Karkarthian make of all types. There was no Karkarth plate sadly though they could hardly remain inconspicuous while kitted in full battle plate. Flexing tired muscles and cracking stiff joints, Kayun walked toward the weapon crate. He peered within and smiled; pulling forth two riliw style waraxes, these possessing not the gleam of normal steel, but an eerie glow about them. Fang and Claw. Kayun’s trusted and beloved axes had been his favored tools for a long time he had to admit. He cherished them as closely as he would a dear friend. They had been forged with skyshards long ago by one of the most talented blacksmith he had ever known. His own lover of old no less. They existed as the last memories of her he possessed. Jahun-ka rarely forged long relationships but Kayun had shared something special with Tamaye. Hefting each axe in his arms he spun them periodically to get feeling back into his hands. He made his way over to his most interesting companion on this risky yet vital mission. His trademark grin plastered on his face, the kind which made his larger than normal canines quite visible on his thickly bearded face. "Well met Vrox, Good to see your barrel ride favored you more than I, hahahaha!" His laugh was strong and from his belly. He shook his head so the braids of his beard swing lightly. “Best we make haste then, the rest here will split off into pairs until night. When the guards are just about to shift and they’re at their weakest. You’ll be with me.” “Very good,” The inconspicuously dressed king reciprocated the laugh with his own, “I have a good feeling about this.” The king seized the hilt of an old regal longsword from the crate and removed it, with a smile he mused, “Karkarthian make, we can’t lose.” The last lights of sunset were already vanishing from the horizon as Kayun settled against an ally wall. The roads had turned out to be much more patrolled then they would have liked. In fact, it made approaching the gate house unseen nigh impossible. Men did not wonder about at this hour unless they had ill intent. As it happened, such was the case. Hooded and robed in a dirty old cloak, Kayun tapped the hilt of his axe hidden under his robes and waited. It had been Gruthga’s idea for a slight change of plans, a diversion of sorts once they had learned just how difficult their task would turn out to be. Getting in now seemed like the easy part indeed. The cool night breeze wafted up from the coast and could be felt even this far from the coast. Kayun fidgeted with a hand as he gripped the hilt of his axe impatiently. What was taking them so long? Then it happened, he could smell it before he saw the reaction of the men around the main gatehouse, one fellow was running toward them in what seemed to be a panic. In minutes, a group had peeled off down the road, Kayun shifted back into the shadow slightly more as they ran by. No doubt his comrades had done their part. A small fire to occupy the guards until the gate was open, by the looks of things it had worked, leaving only a fraction of the men who had been there previously, as well as any nearby patrols now no doubt busy elsewhere. A few fires should spread enough confusion to suit their needs. Still, what guards remained still outnumbered Kayun, Vrox and their comrades. Once more the guards were well armed, and unlike his fellows, better armored in chain mail equipped with crossbows on the high walls. It seemed a fair fight to Kayun. He smiled. He looked back at his five brothers and sisters. Vrox was right behind him, and Kayun still marveled at the fact a King would take on so dangerous a mission. Indeed, Jahun-ka of old had not misplaced their trust in their compact with their Charlin allies. Not a speck of doubt was found in the eyes of Vrox, and his face lit with not a kingly glow but the look of a humble warrior fighting for his country. Vrox gave Kayun a smirk and a nod, signaling a suggested advance. Kayun gave a nod to his comrades, their eyes steely with resolve. They knew what needed to be done. Kayun backed from the alleyways entrance and another of his fellows moved up, Villanie had a hand crossbow cranked and ready. A scaled down version of the more powerful and frightening Karkarth Steel Crossbows, the device was still useful and deadly in the right hands. The man took aim, then fire his first shot at a guard on high walking the walls battlements. It pierced the side of his neck causing him to fall to his knees clutching the wound as he drowned in blood. Villanie was already setting another bolt to his crossbow before he let fly the next, catching the next guard upon the side of the head, piercing his leather skull cap. He then moved on to the guard in the southern watch tower, but the range was much further away, and his first shot was a near miss, striking the stone pillar behind the sentinel that supported the towers roof. The noise alerted the man, who spun about for the source of the noise. He saw the dark figure leaning out of the alleyway below just before a bolt found his chest. It punctured but did not pierce completely at this range through the man’s armor, thus he fell back screaming in pain. The sounded of course alerted his fellows down at the gates entrance way. Kayun cursed, still two out of three would have to do. There still remained the guard in the other tower, but given their approach was from the south up toward and along the wall, and the guard tower was on the north side. They may very well be out of the crossbowman's line of sight. With a an action Kayun was already throwing off his robes, as much a command as was needed for his kin. Who each followed suit as they charged out of the alley way, sprinting a beeline for the gate house. The guards were still looking up in confusion when one spotted the small group heading toward them and shouted a warning. They had never heard of Warsword Kayun Vervesh. They didn't know that death was upon them. The first guard to fall to Kayun had his face caved in with mighty across and upward swing with Fang. The man fell backward dead before he hit the ground. The contact had caused Fang to then ignite into flame, it’s in born magic coming to light. The next man was more prepared than the last, as he managed to clear his short sword first, he parried Kayun’s waraxe Claw. Which proved to be a fatal mistake, as the man’s sword then froze over, baffling the poor sod. Kayun rode the momentum of the man's parry and came down with Fang on the now frozen over short sword. The impact and sudden shift from cold to hot proved enough to break it in one strike. Stepping into the other small mans guard, Kayun shoved forward using his shoulder like a batter ram. The blow dislocated the man's jaw, broke his nose, and knocked the wind out of him as he was launched onto his backside. A feral almost beast like growl escaped Kayun’s lips, his draconic eyes almost cat like now, his canines seeming to grow and sharpen. All around him his men were fighting through guards, knowing they had no time to waste, if that gate didn’t open soon, they would be swarmed when more guards came to investigate the source of this noise. Two more militia came toward Kayun, both armed with spears. Quicker than a man his almost outrages size had any right to be, Kayun bolted to his right, directly toward the closes guardsmen. He danced low to one side at the last moment, just avoiding the spears tip, before sweeping across with Claw, biting into the wood and freezing it upon impact; joining both weapons momentarily. Before the man could pull his weapon away and backpedal to a safer distance, Kayun used the now frozen contact to suddenly pull the man forward instead. He spun out of the way just as the guard at his back charged forward hoping to catch the large Jahun-ka from behind. What he skewered instead was his fellow guardsmen who inadvertently stumbled forward into his comrades weapon. Both wore shocked expressions on their face, even as Kayun’s axe found the back of the un-impaled guardsman's neck. He tore it free with a savage twist and turned to the gate, just as he heard a cry of pain from behind him. It sounded like Rajen, which meant that the crossbowmen on the northern tower had better line of sight and aim that Kayun had hoped for. He hoped to the goddess it wasn't too terrible, but he forced such thoughts from mind. Falling more deeply into the red haze of the Bloodclaw. As the smell of blood greeted his nose, his senses seemed to gradually grew sharper. Now the path was clear to the Gate’s tower which held the mechanism to open it...only it wasn’t. Where there had been no such man when Kayun had first spied the main gate from afar earlier. There now stood what even to his blood hazed mind as distinctly….different. If he had not known any better in fact, he might have thought a paladin of Charlin was baring his path. Kayun only paused a moment to absorb this new information before he concluded that could not be the cause. His mind could not grasp anything at this point aside from the fact this man stood between him and his goal. Kayun crouched low into a Tiger Claw stance, both axes glowing their respective elements open wide to either side of him. Kayun was a warmaster of his respective discipline, however, his opponent as armored and equipped with a shield paired with a sword he clearly knew how to use. Perhaps this task would not be as easy as he had first thought? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ There was no doubt the might of Vrox’s Jahun-ka comrade as the great man finished off his prey with the vigor of a wild beast. However the king did not have enough time to congratulate his partner as the remaining contingent of the guards rushed him hesitantly, clearly low in morale after the stunning defeat of their men at arms. The air smelt of fire and of blood, and as Vrox bore his large long sword in an offensive stance he was determined to eliminate the smell of fire. With a flash of his blade he swung low, driving his swords sharp bite into the exposed knee of a charging guard, sending him to the ground. The king slammed his booted foot onto the screaming and bloodied man’s hand, causing him to release his own blade in pain. Another opponent quickly ran to the fallen guards aid, charging spear first. After a quick side step the king let his sword down in a low arc on top of the spear, ripping it from the guards hands. Vrox quickly grabbed the back of the disarmed mans neck and forced him down on top of his screaming comrade, who was now bleeding profusely from his leg. With a quick shout of his own the king drove the tip of his blade down with all his strength, ripping through both mens necks and impaling them together into a single gruesome work of war. The victorious man smirked at his masterpiece and brought his sword up to his shoulders, ready to strike at any who dared to oppose him. Back and forth he swung his blade, ripping flesh and chain as he struck down man after man. Thrust, slash, hack, blood flew through the air, the acrid smell of the dead started to drown out the smell of fire, and the grunts and screams of defeat overpowered the cackles of fire and clashes in the distance. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “It was a clever trick Jahun-ka, very clever, but not the most original plan. I’ve seen it too many times to fall for it again. Convenient fire burns down part of the city, just so happens to distract part of the garrison. Isolates the wall guards from the city guards, cuts line of communication… leaves the gate defenceless. It has been done before”. The man standing before Kayun was grim and frantic with maddened eyes. While nothing in scale or fury to Kayun’s strength and animal rage, the man in his bent and marked armour with a heavily scarred face contorted into pure disgust and hatred was resolute, standing before him, sword pointing outwards and back towards the gate lever. “You will not take this city, animal. There will be no more High Sepulchrave’s today”. He spat. “I, Urian Phebosius, knight-crusader and defender of the Imperium, stand before Justinian, grant me victory today against the monster and animal spawned by-!” he shouted Kayun spat to the side and eyed the man with a narrowed gaze before becoming a blur of motion. The supposed knight never quite got to finish his prayer before Kayun was upon him. One great bounding stride followed by a war cry that sounded more like the roar of a lion, and Kayun leapt into the air and lifted his weapons high overhead. Using the arc downward, and his considerable weight and momentum to lend bonecrushing force to his attack. However, as Kayun's practised warrior eye had predicted, this man was no novice of battle. Phebosius rolled to Kayun's right side at the last moment, allowing Kayun to crash down and sweep both Claw and Fang through empty air. The backlash created a gout of flames to flash backward to the Warmasters right side that held Fang, and a twin stream of cold icy air in Claws wake to his left that held Claw. With a howling battle cry of his own, though not quite as feral, Phebosius sprung to his feet as the weapon in his hand crackled with energy. The Jahun-ka quickly spun Fang about and upward to parry Urian's sword to the right as Kayun rose and turned. He quickly followed up with a stab toward the paladins now unprotected gut with the spiked tipped edge of Claw in one smooth motion. The energy within the knights sword chose then to detonate in a burst of light that stung Kayun's now light sensitive eyes. It was only a moment's lapse but it lasted long enough for Urian to avoid the waraxes spike tip as it came just short of his gut while he tucked in his stomach in a backward leap. Urian brought his sword back across again, only now the energy from before was gone. It swept Kayun's left hand axe away, allowing Urian to adjust his grip and stab forward with all his might. Kayun sent his left foot back behind his right and narrowly avoided the weapons sharp edge as it scythed through the air just before his chest as he sidestepped it. Kayun used the moment the knight was off balance to turn Fang spiked tip down, and brought up the waraxes curved fang like edge. Using it as a hook to catch the knights sword, turning it up and binding both weapons together as Kayun quickly closed the gap. Too close now for eithers weapon to be of use, Kayun adopted the sophisticated and advanced maneuver of a well placed headbutt against the smaller man's skull. Followed by a second brutal headbutt, then a third. With a bleeding forehead Phebosius responded by letting his sword go and pulling back just in time to avoid another meeting of the Jahun-ka's tough head. Instead, he introduced his shield to the larger man's skull as it came in for another strike. Kayun fell back suddenly as his senses were knocked loose, leaving with a probably broken nose to boot. Phebosius charged shield first, seizing the initiative, knocking the brute to his back and some feet away where he landed heavily. He ducked low and retrieved his sword, which had dropped earlier, and swung down with all his strength. Kayun snapped his twin waraxes upward just in time to block the blow. The clang of steel on steel echoing amidst the fighting before the gate. On pure adrenaline and instinct, Kayun responded quickly by kicking his leg into the side of the knights knee. He buckled from the blow, causing him to fall to one bent leg. Bending his other leg back, Kayun kicked forward and knocked the man onto his back. The Knights armor and padding had saved him from a broken or dislocated shoulder, but it gave Kayun the time he needed to roll to his feet as the Knight followed suit. Both on their feet they circled one another with a new appreciation for the others skill. Their pacing was only interrupted when the sound of the gate slow screeching was heard. Kayun spared only the briefest flicker of his gaze to the gates top. One of his men was at the gate, turning the gates wheel slowly. Just in time as the sounds of whistles further in the city suggested that the militia was on to their scheme. He had to end this quickly. With the roar of a wild beast, Kayun threw himself back into the fray. His weapons were little more than a blur as he hacked at his foe with feral speed. Trailing icy mist and fiery fire, Kayun was a whirlwind of motion. Phebosius was put on the defensive quickly as the Jahun-ka came on with renewed fury. His shield was battered a dozen times, every strike he parried felt like his sword had almost been torn from his grasp. He blocked another strike from Fang, fire bathing the surface of his shield. He swept his sword in a tight horizontal arc to parry Claw. Kayun jumped back suddenly, and Phebosius believed it might mean he could catch a breather as surely his enemy was growing tired. Not so, as Kayun sprung back in no time, shifting now fully. His eyes truly catlike, the fingernails of his hands claw-like. His face and wild black hair gave him the look of a great black lion. Kayun was now foaming at the mouth and scream of rage bellowed forth as he made a powerful attack against Phebosius once more. He had set aside all thoughts of defense as he lunged forward, completely catching the knight off guard with his raw savagery. Down came not Fang or Claw but both waraxes which Phebosius just barely had time to block with his shield raised high. The hit combined with the instant freezing and burning heat added with Kayun's considerable strength finally sundered the shield entirely. Specks of wood flew outward like an explosion metal and steam. Phebosius granted in pain his left arm dropping low as he stumbled backward nearly falling. He barely kept himself on his feet as he cradled his now surely broken arm. Kayun stood tall as he strode forward confidently, spinning Claw and Fang about easily in each hand. He swept both weapons around in another pass and brought them both down in another strike, one Phebosius blocked again with his longsword. Kayun brought his axes up then down again, hooking the sword with his own fanged axe blades and kneeing Phebosius in the face hard. The knight fell back knocked senseless. He tried to rise, but Kayun's foot slammed down on his chest. He looked up with hate and anger in his eyes. Kayun's however was neutral, and stoic. "You fought well." Then brought Claw across in a savage backhand with the flat of the weapons blade against the knights skull. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ As Vrox heard the screaming of the gate slowly being opened, he reached to his belt to procure his cavalry horn, signaling the siege. Before his hand could even touch the horn a voice boomed from behind him paired with the scratching of a blade escaping it’s hilt, “Stand and face your demise, cultist.” Vrox spun around, catching the blade of his new opponent mid swing in his crossguard. The two locked eyes, and Vrox was staring clearly staring at a paladin of sorts, shorter than a Charlin, and deemed a definite enemy. Vrox growled at the man, “I am no cultist.” His words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the paladin looked up at Vrox and pushed their blades apart. The paladin had an arming sword, large shield and plated armor, while the king merely stood with only his very long sword and padded clothes, but after a brief second spent sizing up his shorter opponent, Vrox dismissed the disadvantage and charged. He swung his far reaching sword, but the seasoned paladin stepped into the swing, knocking it aside with his shield as he stepped forward, and jutting out his sword arm like a piston. The king quickly sidestepped, causing the sword to only graze his padded thigh, but during the juke the paladin managed to bring his shield up and around, as to bash the king. With quick reflexes Vrox managed to reel back entirely, saving him from the impending beating. The king this time swung his weapon from a distance, seemingly mimicking his first stroke of the battle. The paladin was confused at the folly but answered the swing with a quick raise of his shield to deflect the blow, but as the longsword hit the shield, Vrox let go instead of following through, and with renewed vigor he grabbed the hand of the paladin that shot out to stab with the arming sword and with a inside shove of his shoulders, ripped the sword out of the paladins hand and sent him stumbling back. The paladin had no time to recuperate as Vrox quickly followed up with quick and powerful swings. Each one pounded heavily on the paladin's shield as he was slowly forced further backwards from the ferocity of the onslaught. Despite the attacker trying to slice and stab through openings in the paladins defense, the man was always quick to reposition his shield. Eventually the defenders arm began to buckle under the weight of each clanging and smashing hit and eventually he was forced to his knee. With a desperate roar the paladin rolled out of the danger and swung his battered shield, knocking the kings knee with a crack. The king squatted with a grunt as his knee flooded with pain. Blood fury filled the eye of the king and he lunged towards the recovering enemy with his good leg shooting off the ground, leaving speckles of crimson where he was hit. Vrox landed flat against the shield, thrusting the arming sword deep in between the plates that flexed over the knights own knee and biting deep into his flesh. Blood began to gush from the wound as the knight hollered in pain. The king released the impaled arming sword in favor of a more brutish attack. His fingers curled around the edges of the shield and he pushed with all his might, sending the duo to the ground, and trapping the bloody and crippled paladin under his own shield once more. The king bore his teeth in anger as his knee began to seep blood through his pants, and planted it on top of the shield, keeping all his weight on the paladin. Vrox dug his thumbs under the lips of the struggling paladins helmet and forced it off, revealing the man's coiffed head and startled face. With furious eyes the king gripped the helmet so tight his knuckles turned white with strain as he brought the helm down onto the paladins face with a slam, and then again, and then again. Soon the motion turned into a blur of metal and blood as the king enacted his revenge on the squirming knight, until finally, the paladin laid still. With his knee still on his dead enemies body, Vrox tore his horn off his belt and raised it to his lips. After a mighty heft on the mouth of the cavalry horn it bellowed and seemingly shook the immediate area, the dull clicks of the gate latching into it’s fully open position seemed to harmonize with loud boom. The harmony was soon drowned out as the fierce pounding of massive hooves clashed and clapped. Those by the now open gate were thrown back in awe as a blinding light bursted into the city. The light galloped powerfully into the city under siege, and on its back sat a large angel with wings of golden light flapping behind the charging creature. A lance like a lightening bolt was held at the side, couched under the arms of the angel, Marc Galenon. The long piercing spear punched clean through even plate as the heavenly combination shot by at amazing speeds. Those who were spared the lance of Marc were soon trampled or impaled by a handful of Charlinite paladins galloping behind with menacing lances of their own. Some paladins wore faint wings of light on their backs as they stampeded through the gates, while others substituted the light bending wings with buzzing wings of eagle feathers glued on a wooden wing frames giving the impression of heaven itself invading the city. Quickly the golden heavenly light was embroidered with fluid ribbons of crimson and the angels valiantly pierced the heart of the cities resistance. Soon after a flood of armored knights and archers stormed the gates, yells calling for them to secure the walls bounced along with the screams of the fallen and the desperate. The sound of heavy feet was heard faintly as the paladins charged in, along with responding horn calls from outside the city. Drums beat and grew steadily louder with the marching step of what sounded like a legion. As The Charlins had charged in like a fountain of silver light, those who came after them arrived like a black storm of dark steel and smoking fires. Torches held aloft in-place of banners as the Men of Kark entered the city proper. The initial charge of cavalry down the main thoroughfare road had thrown the defenders into a confused panic. The iron curtain that followed brought forth the last nail in Everyren's coffin. The Jahun-ka infiltrators on the walls cheered as their army entered the city. Swift death followed those who resisted, a tidal wave of blood and steel as the hosts of House Dracon and Vervesh went about their work. Kayun rested against the wall right beside the still open gateway as Karkarthians poured in. He watched the city fall in a steady tide as defenders were pushed back. Some surrendering as they throw down their weapons in the face of certain defeat. A clicking hiss beside him broke him from his enthrallment, looking up to see Fire Prince Kelnzo astride a mighty Craver. The great reptile salivating as it shifted its feet anxiously. No doubt smelling the blood in the air. "We have done it Kayun! The city will soon be ours," the princes voice muffled slightly by his helmet. Only his eyes revealing his smile. "Aye," Kayun nodded, sounding almost tired. "So it has... it has truly begun then..." Vrox limped next to Kayun’s side, a smile plastered on his red speckled face, “victory is ours.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ [center][b]Rite of Fire[/b] The Hallowed Sanctum [img]http://www.wallpapersas.com/wallpapers/2013/01/Army-knights-medieval-2048x2048.jpg[/img] “Down through the valley From black night's galleries The dawn is lighted by legends calling Of gold and armor The axe of honor Waking the metal in every heart” - The Song of Karkarth [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYasS2oOtDc]Theme[/url] [/center] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The hosts of House Dracon had gathered together; their banners blowing in the wind and the blazing river fires of the Ash Wastes gleaming off their midnight black plate. The light of the sun blocked out by the great ash clouds overhead which even now were crackling with bolts of lightning. In prefect ordered and spaced columns the hosts stayed respectfully back as they had been instructed by their respective spiritual leaders. Some of the unruly younger valartin nearest to the front whispered among themselves and bullied for position that they might witness the miraculous event. While the majority of the host remained stock still as if fashioned statues of ebon stone. All gathered in their respective hunken. Kiha was among them, taking up the center rear guard of the assembled host positioned on slightly raised ground. She had heard of the coming ceremony spoken of before. Mostly in tales and stories; the last great war Karkarth had fought had followed such a ceremony. As had every war since the founding— or more refounding— of Karkarth well over nine hundred years ago. As tradition dictated, before the assembled Host was raised a great square podium of carven stone, the steps to reach it built in a pyramidal like fashion, with each corner supporting a spire-like pillar. This was the Hallowed Sanctum on the very edge of the Ash Wastes, south of Djerad Thymar. Kiha had only ever come here once long ago, passing it on an errand into Charlin. The sound of drums echoed— knocking Kiah from her musing— a rumbling steady tune as the chants of painted dancers followed the rising rhythm; they’re movements matching the music with cunning grace near the foot of the pyramidal platform of stone. Thunder sounded from on high as the rainless storm overhead picked up strength, lighting the heavens in great flashes of light. Kiha spotted Grand Archon Shurdan begin ascending the steps with a torch in both hands, flanked by pairs of fellow priestess each carrying their own fires. She was adorned in pure crimson robes with gold flames patterned across the garments. Her fellow priestess similarly garbed though lacking the golden flames upon their own robes. Unlike most of her race Shurdan possessed great sweeping horns, each with a gold band around it, the points of which curled over her head following the curve of her skull and ending just under her ears. Not so unlike Kiha’s own draconic horns she thought, minus the golden bands. Finally upon the platform High Priestess Shurdan stood before a large brazier near the center of the platform, one which held within it a single sword sheathed within the coals and began to slowly turn around in short circles. In response, those priestesses who had followed her then circled the brazier also began to move slowly around the perimeter of the stone monuments top, each turning small circles within the march. Gradually Shurdan began to increase the pace of her turn, and those around and below similarly began to move faster, both in their own circles and in their larger march. That march became more animated with each step, becoming more of a dance. Torches bobbed and swayed erratically as they chanted in unison. It went on for many minutes, the priestesses not seeming to tire in the least— and that alone told perceptive Kiha that there was some magic afoot. Finally, Shurdan stopped all of a sudden, and those around her stopped at precisely the same moment, simply freezing in place. With the synchronicity of a practiced dance team the group swayed and rotated, gradually coming to stand straight, torches held high and steady. The priestesses then moved forward toward the yet unlit brazier and added their torches to it, igniting it in a blazing flash of red and orange flames. At that moment, thunder seemed to shake the very earth as strike of lightning sounded right above them. And Tiberius Dracon appeared ascending the pyramid. As one, the crowd of the younger warriors who had never seen the sacrament performed, Kiha included, gasped. The Jahun-ka Vanquisher was naked, his muscular frame painted in bright colors; red, silvery white, and black. His eyes had been lined in white, exaggerating them so that it seemed to every onlooker as if Tiberius was scrutinizing him specifically, and the crowd reflexively shrank back. The warpaint also serving the purpose of hiding his burn and scar marks. As she collected her wits about her, Kiha realized how extraordinary the ceremony truly was, for Tiberius was not wearing his magnificent masterwork armor. The Vanquisher had allowed himself to be vulnerable though he hardly appeared helpless. His torso rippled with every stride, and his limbs seemed almost as if his muscles were stretched too tightly, the sinewy cords standing taut and straight. In many ways, the powerful Jahun-ka seemed every bit as imposing as if he had been fully armed and armored. His face stoic as stone and just as cold but revealed a force of will that seemed almost palpable, as his intensity heightened so that it seemed as if his mortal coil could not contain it. As Tiberius walked into the center of the stone platform he fell down to his knees slowly, his back to the brazier of flames. His head bowed and hands clasped together in an almost meditative stance. Priestesses moved toward him then, long staves of ashwood— the same wood often used in Jahun-ka spears and javelins— in hand as if they had materialized from thin air. As they made a circle about him they raised their respective clubs, and then immediately set about striking Tiberius from every side. They avoided only his head and groin, but everywhere else was fair game. This more than anything else so far shocked Kiha the most. “They seek to remove all impurities before we march to war,” Came a voice from behind. Kiha whirled her head about to see Thurirl’ve— Master and teacher of Fire Prince Kelnzo— standing with arms crossed and staring dead ahead. Kiha had not even realized the man had returned to the capital. “Like any metal they seek to make him stronger by removing that which makes him weak.” He continued to explain as if reading her thoughts. “It is more than a simple ceremony of symbolism.” Kiha stared at the old warrior not knowing what to say to that. She turned back to the ceremony and watched in fascination. The priestess seemed to be hitting with full force, and these being Jahun-ka no doubt made these blows quite formidable. Tiberius resultantly absorbed the hits, never crying out once nor reacting in any visible way. After what seemed forever they stopped and stepped away. From the looks of it at least a few of them were tired. The High Priestess moved forward with languid grace while another priestess followed in toe with a golden bowl in hand. She dipped her hand into the bowl and began to chant under her breath as she anointed Tiberius’s forehead with ash and oil. She traced lines along his face and arms in a seemingly intricate pattern. Done her task she stepped back and cast her hand over Tiberius’s head in a mystical pattern. At last Tiberius rose to his feet, but showed none of the expected pain or bruises. In fact, he seemed to stand even taller than before, a surety to his posture that belied his near savage beating. He turned and strode toward the burning brazier, facing the flames unflinchingly. He then reached into the very flames as the sky was light up again by lightening. The beat of drums sped up as Tiberius pulled forth the still flaming sword in one smooth move. Turning about to face the assembled army. He suddenly raised the flaming sword into the air, “yth re wer ixen!” “Yth re wer ixen!” The army roared in response. “It is time Karkarth reminds the world why we should be feared!” his voice seeming to resonant across the assembled masses. “March with me and see our enemies reduced to ash in the name of our Goddess, for the glory of Takataren!" “Ra! Ra!” They shouted back. Beating the butt of their spears into the earth, kicking up dust and stomping their feet. Tiberius rose his sword higher, “What is burned may never die!” “What is burned may never die!” Kiha watched on in fascination as she felt it hit her like a runaway stallion. Just [i]what[/i] it was she could not describe in words. All that she knew for sure was that this elation she suddenly felt was dampened only by the knowledge she would not have the honor of marching alongside her brother and father. She squeezed her hands into a fist until the nails of her hand began to bite into her palms. Her time would come. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ [center]C H A P T E R TWO Immolation The Bulwark [img]http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/half-life/images/3/3d/Scrapland_cracks.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20100224181529&path-prefix=en[/img] [i]"The Marchlands. Few westerners even know what the Marchlands is, let alone how hostile a place it can be. Jahun-ka scholars have long since theorized the Marchlands is the byproduct of some ancient battleground of a long since ended war. Who was fighting who is not so much important as what has become of this land. It is a desolate place, of shifting sands, broken earth fissures, and violent storms. Home only to the most horrid of beastmen who attack Karkarth near unceasingly with creatures leading them nearly as powerful as Drathan archwizards. Karkarth survives only thanks to the Bulwark and those savage peoples own martial skill. Those who once lived in the Marchlands themselves are long gone, their legacy remains only in ruined stones cities half buried by time. Modern day scholars of the present age have found startling similarities with the now present plague land in the heart of the continent. Which suggest the Dream plague has happened before. If so, only one question remains. If the Dream plague has blighted Avara in days of yore. How did we survive...and at what cost?”[/i] - Except from Book of the Realms of Avara, written by a Drathan Wizard [b]Fort Ebonstone, Bordering the Marchlands[/b] [/center] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "You're a coward." "You're a fool." Blades rang from their scabbards with the shrill sound of anger, and only the large hands of the Black Host Telsword kept blood off the dusty field of the forts main courtyard. "Stand down! Both of you!" the commander roared. His black slitted eyes bored into the unruly troopers, and the two scrappers slowly resheathed their weapons. He crossed his large arms across his chest. "I've got six Fistratats to organize, soldiers, and I can't waste time babysitting yours. Get your arses in gear! Five years you've been fighting like this. Kill each other already, or stop wasting my time!" Blade Captain Dahika Splitvein Vervesh's fists clenched. She snarled in barely controlled obedience. "Fine. But if this sniveling, slack-jawed weakling tries to tell me what to do one more time..." "If I don't tell you and you blunder into an ambush, then it's on your head." The other Jahun-ka, a smaller male of the Ash Host, rolled his hands over the hilts of his white-handled daggers. "You and your Black Host Fistratat will be turned into branded monsters or slaves of Axohaan— assuming the Ghûls don’t just kill you," he sneered. "Then again, being corrupted by a Red God might actually make you more pleasant, Dahika." Dahika raged forward again, but the Telsword still stood in her way. "Uncalled for, Kaloy!" The Telsword, a great bear of a Jahun-ka named Khanda, pushed them both back. "Back off!" Jabbing a thick finger into the black-garbed scout's chest, the Telsword said viciously, "Your duty, Ash trash, is to escort this warband through Blain Expanse to Kinar fields. If you can't do that, then get me someone that can!" Kaloy Greyhide Turannun growled low in his throat and let go of his weapons. "Fine. I promise I'll see them through the Marchlands— just keep that lunatic off my back." "Fine." Dahika echoed. "Show me the path. Then stay out of my way." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ [center] [b]Marchlands, North of Fort Ebonstone[/b] "Face the burdensome Dread Mountain. Carry its weight face-wise. Submit to the endless edges twinned. Master these strikes in the morning; cleave the light and leave the foe in darkness: "Two Blades Become Four "Lion's Teeth Exposed in Thunder "Five Arrows Split the Sky "The Screech of Descent upon Helpless Prey "Master these strikes in the evening; chase the enemy and burn its flesh."- Ablahar at-Tunal from the Tome of Battles, Warblade of Dojo Mortate [img]http://uniqpost.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/concept-art-the-hobbit-warg-riders-kostum-dan-persenjataan-11.jpeg[/img] [i]A few hours later….[/i][/center] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A storm raged in the March. Lightning flashed here and there, illuminating slithering, beast-like things roaming the corrupted plains. A lone Jahun-ka warband marched across the shifting sand, boots treading over ground too treacherous and constantly changing to map. Kaloy paused, holding up one fist to signal a silent halt. The Fistratat instantly froze in place as they crouched and took cover behind the natural rocks around them, before Kaloy took point vanishing over a rocky crest of stone. Dahika smelled the air, catching no more than a faint hint of danger. After a moment, the scout slunk back to them, crawling over the broken rocks to whisper, "Hostiles up ahead. Looks like trouble." He sketched a quick map in the sand, indicating location, distance, and number. "They've already got our scent." "Then it's killin' time." Dahika's eyes narrowed. She glanced back at her warband, friends since childhood. Their faces were drawn and stiff with the flashes of lightening gleaming off their scale armor, as an advanced forward warband they lacked the heavy mail of the Uskdos. Still everyone of them were hardened veterans of the Bulwark, they knew the danger. The flatland ahead was solid. Even. It would make an excellent place to fight. "Prepare assault. Two on the rear, the rest with me. At my signal..." Suddenly the high neighing of a horse could be heard over the storm. Then they say it, or more him as it were. A single man riding a white steed, both the rider and horse looked worn and caked with dirt of travel. Even from here Dahika could see that the man was wounded, his right hand clutching the reins as his left one limped at his side as he slumped dangerously forward. The sound of hooting and hollering could be heard in the distance, along with the savage howls not unlike that of dire scale wolves of the western Karkarth swamps. As the single rider neared it became obvious he was no beastling. As well as it seemed he was no doubt the target of their ire. She could see that he wore the armor of a knight, though it was much thinner than Charlin or Karkathian styles. One detail of the man stood out above all the others, however, for as the rider neared Dahika could clearly see the pair of horns adorning his head. Not rigged and curved like a Jahun-ka’s but elegant and jutting forwards like a deers. As the rider neared the bottom of the hill, the calls became louder as massive creatures crested the hill in pursuit. They were hideous, twisted by the energies of the March or some foul magic. Judging by their malformed skulls and huge, clawed paws, the monstrosities might once have been bears or mountain-cats. Now they were nothing but twisted shells filled with a Red God’s murderous hatred. Atop them were cruel looking Ghûls in salvaged armored plates and wicked looking improvised weapons, mostly bone clubs and spears. “Down now!” She hissed to her warband. They responded quickly falling onto their stomachs using the stones as camouflage. They had not been seen, for the Ghûls seemed intent on only one thing. The single rider and his mad eyed horse beating a steady retreat. The strange mounts of the Ghûls’ might not have normally been able to match the horses speed, but it was obvious it was reaching the end of it’s endurance in a flight who knew how long. While the creatures that chased it were fueled by magic no doubt. The Ghûls riders fanned out in a rough reverse [i]v[/i] formation around the single Moonlander horseman. The center Ghûl of the formation was spinning a three pronged rope over his head with practiced ease, a bolas by the looks of it. He released it and it’s flight ended with the weighted rocks tying up the hindlegs of the horse. The miserable animal lurched forward violently; throwing the rider from the saddle in a long rolling landing. Dahika unconsciously grimaced at the sight of the fall, which had likely led to fatal injury or likely death of the rider. Hoots of pleasure followed as the other Ghûls circled and raised their weapons into the air in triumph. The pulled in closer, a few even dismounting while his beast wasted little time in making it’s way over to the downed horse, it’s front leg broken and bent with the white of bone jutting out. It neighed in pain as it kicked impotently while on its side. The beast charged it and tore at the horses throat. The others soon followed ripping the horse to pieces in a blood bath of gore and savagery. The Ghûls then went about their own work while their beast fed on the still live horse. Pleased looks painted on their ugly faces as they came cautiously forward. One Ghûls poked the corpse of the Moonlander with the butt end of his spear. The rider was no dead however, for as the Ghûls attempted to roll him over with his spears end he soon fell back screaming in pain. He gripped his wrist, now a bloody bleeding stump, and tried in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood. The other Ghûls only laughed derisively at their comrades pain. Seemingly enjoying his suffering. The Moonlander grimaced in pain himself as he managed to roll to a crouch on one knee. A now blood stained blade of pure silvery metal shining in his gauntleted right hand. His left arm cradled close to his chest, probably broken the Ghûls assumed. The look he gave them promised swift death. Despite the show of defiance, they were hardly afraid, they are many, and they had their creatures to send in if he still showed resistance. One produced a whip from his belt and spun it around to its full length with a crack. The other Ghûls smiled all the wider at the sight. The Ghûl with the whip tested it a few times, sending it smacking against the sands around the moonlander. He didn't so much as blink once. Angry at the mans lack of fear, that same Ghûl, possibly the groups captain, sent the whip forward with a skilled controlled crack that smacked across the moonlanders left shoulder. He wore light armored plate, yet the iron tipped edge of the whip flicked across the men's left cheek, cutting a gash there which caused him to cry out. Other Ghûls soon joined in with their own whips, and set about striking at him from all sides. Stabbing forward with spears at any opening they could find. The moonlander struggled valiantly. He managed to duck under one whip blow, before catching it with his sword and cutting a good portion of it off. Another Ghûls to his right charged in with a spear, in response the Moonlander turned that same swing flicking around in a perfect backhand. The cutting edge parried the spears tip to one side. He sprung forward from his crouch enough to attack with another weapon the Ghûl would not have expected. The edge of his antler bit into the Ghûls face and it fell back as a protrusion of horn stabbed into an eye bursting the optical organ wide open. Another attack at his back had him turning, but he could not turn about in time. A broken rib among other injuries slowing his reaction. A Ghûls whacked a bone club across the back of his head. Knocking free his helmet clean off his head and causing him to stumble forward. The Ghûls roared with glee at the sight, especially the one who had managed to land the blow. As he rose to a crouch again, his dark red locks of hair spilled out over his deceivingly delicate features and milk white skin. Eyes the color of crimson gold, shaded like a dark orange, peered out in object hatred. The Ghûls still seemed none too afraid, elated in fact at the prospect of a long afternoon of fun with their recent catch. Suddenly their laughs of glee were cut out by a cry of pain. They quickly shot around to the source of the noise. In time to see one of their dread mounts keeled over with a bolt in it’s throat. The others were still tearing away at the now dead horse. Another cry of pain, another dead beast. Then two more! The larger Ghûl captain barked out in his cruel tongue, to his fellows in warning. The beasts themselves now seemed to be aware something was amiss. "Wer caexi di wer Jahun-ka, wer Jahun-ka re acht wux!" Came the unexpected warcry. The Ghûl had no time to prepare themselves as nine Jahun-ka fell upon them in a storm of blood and flashing swords. A strike of lightening heralding their coming. A whirl of blades and fire tore through the creatures. Body parts flew apart like training dummies as ebon steel cut through them like paper. Swords were striking emaciated foes faster than the moonlanders eyes could follow. He thought to add his sword to the fray but stumbled to his knees as he coughed up blood. He was injured worse than he thought. In any case it seemed unnecessary. A javelin pierced the throat of one riderless beast mount, while the waraxe of another Jahun-ka hacked the arm off of another Ghûl before that same Jahun-ka picked him off the ground by his throat and tossed him into his fellows. Montu swords and riliw waraxes thumped against dusty shields and sliced through flesh raining crimson blood to mix with the falling rain. Jahun-ka swords cut through the surprised Ghûls with frightening speed. The Moonlander flinched as he was struck on the arm by a disembodied Ghûl head, the face still locked in a mockery of stunned surprise. It fell to the floor near its decapitated body as it rolled before the Moonlander. Flashes of the battle were played out in mock still images, as the lightning revealed all the combatants in one moment then hide them in darkness again the next. The carnage was over before the Moonlander could fully grasp what had happened. Still on his knees, barely able to keep conscious, he was finally approached by one of the Jahun-ka, a tall female with her hair worn in two war braids that flowed down either side of her head. A male with two blood daggers in her wake. His supposed rescuers he decided. “Svaust re wux?” the women asked. The Moonlander had no idea what she had said, but he recognized High Draconic from what he had heard from exiled Jahun-ka in the north. He grimaced as he took a steady breath before speaking in the Common tongue of the west. “I am Zvezdan Lenart of Phiore… I..I…” suddenly darkness edged into the side of his vision and he knew no more. [hider=Summary] The fall of Everyn by Immolation Vangaurd. War Ceremony of Karkarth performed. Karkarth is now ready to march. Moonlander found! WHAAAAAAA!!! "Wer caexi di wer Jahun-ka, wer Jahun-ka re acht wux!" “The swords of the Jahun-ka, the Jahun-ka are upon you!" “Svaust re wux?” “Who are you?” [/hider]