The Folly at Kalldur's End

[hearth_ 1023]

Spoiler

 

This is an account from my character’s perspective. It’s also reducing 13 pages of logs into a readable post, so it may not be 100% accurate to what happened, but I tried to leave in tidbits from the other players that I felt flexed their writing talents. It was just a fun, impactful exchange I thought was worth sharing (:

Thank you to @LichinCrocs for the engaging villainy RP. All of the lich's dialogue was by him.

Thank you to the two other characters there:

@Gnomeh - The Wyld Witch

@Chuuwys - Suliin’yuln

 

If you were present after the event, or your character somehow caught wind of it, feel free to reply!

 

 

 

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The campfire burned low, embers sputtering out into the dawn chill. Beside it sat The Harvest Druid, his helm resting at his side, gloved hands idly breaking apart a small loaf of bread. A chickadee bounced around the stones, hopping forward to abscond with crumbs that fell between his boots. What tears of light dripped from his visor slowed in their descent - having found a moment of quiet, something nearing peace after months of fighting.

 

From the muddy path leading up the hill came Suliin’yuln, a white fox trotting at her heel, leash dragging through the soil as it happily kept pace with her. “Ker’ayla, Thalen…” Her greeting carried the weight of all too much experience in her short time among the Druii. 

 

Thalen’s brow lifted; he sat the loaf of bread on his knee and provided a faint nod to her in return. “Ker’ayla.” His voice matched his haggard appearance, worn over into a low and gravelly melody. 

 

Together they exchanged hushed words, two survivors of a calamity and the anarchy of the infernal Island they were stuck on. She thanked him for his help a few days prior, apologized for losing her temper. He waved it off, guilt flickering behind his aurum irises. “I owe you an apology for that scene more than you owe me thanks,” he murmured, rubbing his temple. “You shouldn’t have been caught up in it. Llun ito nae’leh. . . How about yourself?”

 

She smiled weakly in kind. “I’m tired,” she admitted, crouching to pat the fox’s head. “I’ve had to spend some time alone to think, and pack my things up to go.” 

 

Thalen nodded, rolling his shoulders with a sigh. “Mmm.. I know the feeling. The next realm will offer more chances at a peaceful life. I hope you find a place to rest that suits you.” He rose slowly, armor chattering as he stretched. 

 

Then, he froze.

 

From the very same path a figure stepped into view. It was a decaying thing, having leathery film of flesh peeled over bone, the muscle beneath having long ago decayed. Two figures followed close behind - one a horror of flesh, the other a knight clad in black. 

 

The mummified creature leading them inclined his skull in a graceful bow. “Greetings,” he rasped, “Well met, children of the sun. Let us speak, while the isle still lasts.”

 

The air shifted. All warmth seemed to fade from Thalen’s senses. He reached slowly for his helm. “Ne…” He muttered as he slid it over his head. “Alas, our final day here won’t pass in peace.” Then his shoulder shrugged to drop the slayersteel spear across his back into his palm, an evermore familiar companion in recent days.

 

The skeletal creature’s hand rose, the skin wrought across it wrinkling and contorting in sickly creases with the movement. The air surrounding him became still - life holding the flow of its energy in retreat from its next words. 

 

“I have no wish to fight you,” he croaked again, “There is no need for this day to end in noise and dust when it could end in quiet.”

 

Then, from a hedge just behind the bonfire, appeared The Wyld Witch. In one hand she carried a roll of twine, in the other a bundle of aromatic herbs, chanting with each completed rotation and eventually knotted the flora together. “An it harm none, do what ‘ye will.” The Wytch reminded, voice carrying in the stagnant air surrounding them. About the Harvest's shoulders would the sanctified smoke from the bundle rise.

 

Suliin goaded her fox further from the undead, ensuring it darted back off toward her tent further on. For his part, the Druid didn’t move, faint light dripping from the visor of his helm in molten tears of gold. “It’s astounding your kind haven’t gotten the point yet.” Next came a shield, which he absentmindedly buckled to his forearm. “Druii should be slaughtering you. But some among us have grown lazy.” He drove the rounded end of his spear into the earth. “I do not care what you are, nor how wicked your magic may be. The Aspects demand your end.”

 

The Wytch’s head began to fall in rhythmic nods toward Thalen, eyes closing, lips curling into a distant smile. “If there is Unbalance, thou must try to restore it.” More esoteric whispers fell from her lips while she moved to light the bundle at the campfire. She turned to the lesser being, “Return from whence thou camest, do nay pass the hedge’s boundary.” Her wrist turned so the smoke rose in sanctified curls over Thalen’s form.

 

“A pity.” The word that came next was calm, flat, and final. “Kill.” There was an eruption of movement. The flesh golem lurched forward first, dragging its axe behind it to form deep scars through the earth as it unleashed a tortured roar. In the same moment did the knight charge forward, poleaxe lowered in a thrust toward the Druid’s chest.

 

Thalen braced himself - shield hovering at his shoulder, his stance wide - radiant tears falling in greater numbers. “Ahernal Ito.” He whispered. Right before the strike landed he saw Suliin scramble up the tiled roof of the forge he put up days prior. Already it was crumbling beneath the weight of combat, as all good things had in their time on Kalldur.

 

The first strike came from the golem - war axe curving in a devastating arc aimed for Thalen’s throat. He reared himself backward, but the weapon’s reach was longer than he’d anticipated. The spiked head caught him just beneath the pauldron, parting chain and gambeson before digging a shallow wound in his shoulder. The knight spilled into the space he left open to pursue the Witch. Already he found his heels on the precipice of the hill behind him, and before an opportunity came to find better ground - the axe came down again.

 

When his shield met the force, portions splintered, a network of fractures coursing from the shield's center. In a cacophony of metal and cursing he rolled down the hill, until his tumble was stopped by the forge’s wall. He groaned and brought himself to his knees. 

 

From the hill above he could hear the clamor of fighting, another herald of undeath having arrived. It chided a pair of Templar Aspirants, lured them away from the Lich that still orchestrated his minions in perfectly horrific synchrony. The sound of a bowstring loosing overhead pierced through his helm, hearing the Mali’ame above damn herself for a missed shot.

 

Over the clamor Thalen could hear the Wytch’s voice break out. It was terse, already carrying the ichor of death’s grasp, “The Wheel-” she gasped. The sound of a second sickening impact reached Thalen’s ears. “Continues to turn…” 

 

It was enough to drive him forward. Rivers of that honeyed light now spilled over his armor in a vast array. The Druid pleaded for the Song’s aid and it answered - knotted weeds and tangled roots leaping out of the earth to propel him back into the fray. When he crested the hill once more the knight clad in black was waiting - the polearm’s spiked head nearly meeting his breastplate.

 

The battle dragged on. Thalen’s shield hung in tatters; his stance narrowed, partly bent from fatigue. The knight pressed on at its master’s behest, “Kill.” It thrust again and the weapon’s reach came dangerously close to his throat. He twisted and used his shield to bat away the incoming strike. In synchrony his war hammer rose in an arc toward the creature’s jaw. There came a resounding crack, but still, it didn’t falter. Its reply was swift, and the axehead of its weapon split the Druid’s helm.

 

Brought to his knees, Thalen could do little else but watch as the flesh golem wrought its axe from the Wyld one and turned to join its wretched counterpart in pursuing a retreating set of Templar Aspirants. Suliin loosed another arrow. It found its mark in the joining darkspawn’s shoulder, but it did little to subdue the wanton death it sought out. It turned to her then, cackling wildly as it watched her duck behind the roofing for cover.

 

The Lich lifted his staff.

 

A thread of red mist woven by blackened veins lashed out and attached itself squarely to the knelt Mali’s chest. It ripped away every ounce of strength that remained, and the glowing beneath his helm dimmed. His breath came in uneven and choked gasps. A chill crawled over his skin, foreign to the forest along the seaside.

 

“You fight well,” the lich rumbled, “But you are still alive. That is your weakness.” It took patient steps forward - those of a hunter watching their prey struggle against their trap. 

 

He tried to push himself back. Tried to bring the war hammer up again, but every attempt proved more futile than the last. Spittle sprayed against the inside of his helm when he fell back into the dirt. With what little strength was left, he barked to the young ranger beyond his vision, “Suliin - go-” He fell silent beneath the weight of his own breath.

 

“I’m not leaving you here alone!” She shouted back, drawing another arrow and taking aim through blurred vision. The arrow she sent found its mark again in the darkstalker that approached her. It wasn’t enough.

 

The Lich lifted his hand and the minions he commanded fell still. The darkstalker approached alongside it, staring down in morbid curiosity to the suffering Mali.

 

“They are a broken thing clinging to their last breaths,” the Lich murmured, “There is no art in breaking what is already shattered.” At that same insidious pace he moved until he stood over Thalen’s twitching, dying body. The one silver pupil in its skull gleamed as if spurned on by the misery.

 

“There is no Song for you now.

No wind in the trees.

Only silence after your last breath.

And I… am that silence.”

 

The tether snapped. The Harvest Druid gasped for air through the bloodied steel of his visor, before he fell still again. “Thalen!” Suliin’s echoed once over the clearing. But at his behest.. She turned and fled.

 

“Hear this, and remember. I am Urk-vyr’adalm. King in Undeath. Ruler of the Scorched Crown and all its Legions.

You stand today by my allowance.

You breathe by my disinterest.

But time is a weapon that does not dull in my grasp.

I will return when your hope has grown ripe and soft..

And then -

I will break every last one of you.”

 

The flame in his staff went out. The shadows that followed the thing curled around the edges of its cloak.

 

Only the campfire remained, long since burned to ash.

 

──────⋆☽⋆──────

[A_Cosmosss 27]

Spoiler

Cooked!!

 

[Chuuwys 502]

(A fantastic expansion on what occurred on that day. A truly gruesome and wholesome day of RP for many. Thank you for this, your writing is fire!)

[F1F4 121]

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Great writing!!

[Gnomeh 470]

Spoiler

Beautifully written and retold! Send them back from whence they camest!

 

[Mordringfan 166]

Amazing writing