Yhl’Verachone Khyal’s Farseer Pact
Lesser of Dazkur - Smaohtrankarparg, Spirit of Vigilant Protection.
——————————— —————————— POUND after POUND the realm rumbled. Awakened. Obsidian walls, a darkened sky. . . and an ‘o so eerie staircase that’s end was too far to see. The howl of the winds above deafening, then silence. Dust and earthen sands blown over the edges of the walls in puffs of dirt, coating the obsidian mounds layer after layer in itself—a land in darkness and left in silence. And yet eyes watched.
The shallow thoughts rippling as he woke, pushing himself off the grounds as another shake of the earth scattered below. The man’s ears twitching, pointing out to the depths of the surroundings walls that reflected his image. . . and so he climbed the stairs ahead of him. Beckoned to movement, and to the stories laid within the abyss.
“Honlat.” The voice boomed, vibrating throughout the earth, verberating inside his mind.
(( “ You see. “ ))
Kharajyr faced to the walls then, drifting within the abyssal mirror, greeted to himself. And then others. Memories rippling in the stone, deep within the play of the darkened mirror as he watched himself—shield in hand as he tensed. Himself faced against a mighty minotaur, pressed ahead of his party, his eyes filled with determination— a flame. “Honlat.” The voice boomed.
(( “ You see. “ ))
The man pushed forward, eyes focusing back to the stairs—still walking. Another memory. Another day. The mori’s invasion pressing against his mind as he looked, himself at the front, gripping a cannon as he steadied himself amidst the kinship of his allies around him. The scene blurry. Orcs once. Humans another. Kharajyr— and the elves. Focus on them all as the familiar scenes played. Verachone arming himself, shield still kept upon him as he pressed himself alongside those he fought with. . . “Honlat.”
(( “ You see. “ ))
He woke, paw against the obsidian wall as it ended. A cliffside viewing the rest of the realm. A blackened sun with flares of galaxy flame, stars unseen in the dusk of this eternal night sky. The end. “Amat lat tul. . ?”
(( “ Why [ are ] you here. . ? “ ))
A giant hand rose, colliding against the obsidian mound’s side as it gripped the stone. Rising.
“AMAT LAT TUL. . ?!”
(( “ WHY [ ARE ] YOU HERE. . ?! “ ))
The voice boomed, deafening as it rose. The spirit rising from the depths of the chasm before the cliff’s edge, body taking over the horizon as it blocked out the sun—shifting the realm as that same sun warped and rose—placing itself before them all. A halo of swirling flame around its head. Its armored visage expelling the galaxy flame as he finally stopped within its rise, shifting the terrain as it pulled the platform wider. . . “I am honored to be before you.”
The man began his words.
“To honor my promise.” He looked up to the spirit, a hand lofted to his chest. “A promise to my loyalty and sworn protection.” The man’s tail wafted. “I have come to serve the spirits as I’ve promised myself to, and that I give my protection to those I am loyal to. My oath to serve.” “Amolub lat gundul. . ?”
(( “ How will you guard them. . ? “ ))
“. . .” The man softened his poise, offering a nod. “By being with them, as I have. And as I will do— As I wish to do for you—to serve you.” “Ghaak.” It spoke, blowing a ghastly flame. “Draaghlatub za frûm mohkum naadar brunlab.”
(( “ Let it be. “ )) — (( “ You will build this spirit [ a ] home among your people. ” ))
. . . The words seemed to flow in his own mind as the spirit spoke it. “Lup’Smaohtrankarparg.” ——————————— —————————