GrenadierGaming

"Where am I..." Far across the lands stretched an endless remnant of battles long fought. The earth was cracked and muddy with offal and blood, pierced by rusty blades and the rotting shafts from which tattered banners fluttered in the thick, hazy air. Everywhere were piled skulls and bones of the fallen, clad in broken armor beaten and bashed. In the skies high above the carrion crows flocked, their caws a mimicry of the sounds of warfare and clashing of steel as clouds swirled in a rumbling sea of thunder and lightning, like the pounding of cannon and the crack of killing blows. All the lands were drenched a red hue as the sun, blazing oppressively overhead, cast down it's crimson aura, as if washed with the blood of the endless dead. Rakhnar shuttered a breath at the sight, his throat was parched, as if he'd been standing there in the dust and heat for hours, and his arms felt the need to grasp his weapon, even though he carried none. He took a few cautious steps forward, his red hair fluttered in the harsh wind, and his coat tails trailed behind him, caught in their grasp. Suddenly his foot sunk into a shallow ditch, filled with blood, and he recoiled away from it, stepping on a bleached skull which cracked and broke as he did. The air reverbed with it's sickening crunch, and the heaving of his chest. "Got to get outta' here." He eventually said, looking around the endless landscape for a way out. He found no immediate path of escape, though in the distant red horizon he spotted the ruins of some once great building, now merely a collection of marble pillars and desolated walls little more than piled bricks. He made his way there, carefully avoiding the remains littered around him and the pools of blood and offal. The journey was a battle in itself, every step he took he risked slipping in bloodied mud, tripping upon buried skulls, or impaling himself upon broken spear shafts which jutted from the ground, waiting with anticipation to drink the blood of the unfortunate. Soon, he came upon a great river which flowed slow and thick. It was bright red, and seemed almost to steam with warmth. He looked to his left and right, and saw no place where it ended, and gazed upon the ruins on the other side. "Have mercy." He muttered, then put a foot in. The feeling was like no other, the river was thick, it's contents seemed to stick to him, trying to drag him along, but was thankfully no more than knee deep in the middle. He soon reached the other side, his legs dripping with thick blood which drooled from his feet into the ground below. Now before him was the ruin. What little of it remined was but columns and loose walls of marble brick which shone like a beacon of light in the crimson atmosphere of this place, and Rakhnar found himself drawn there even more. Soon, he came upon a great courtyard where many skeletons were piled, though some stood out from the others. They were clad in armor, mostly intact, and held blades that were long and chipped from many battles. There was also, at the end of the courtyard, a throne carved of marble with many skulls laid at it's base, as if it was propped up purely on the remains of the fallen. Yet, it was empty. The dwarf approached it, his footsteps echoing upon the broken tiles and debris. Then came a glint from the corner of his eye, and he ducked just as a great blade was swing overhead. He fell to the ground, and turned to see what now stood over him, and his jaw dropped. It was man of great size, hair black as the night which was slick with sweat and blood. He wore little armor, but had gauntlets and pauldrons of steel, and in his hand he held a massive blade. His red eyes pierced into the dwarf, a sneer upon his face. "You dare enter the realm of the Lord of Rage!?" The man roared. Rakhnar scrambled back as the man rushed forth, swinging his great blade in hopes of cutting Rakhnar's chest open. On his feet, the dwarf watched the warrior swing widely at him, to which the dwed ducked once more. Eying a broken sword upon the ground laid beside a battered and broken shield, Rakhnar grasped them and swiftly blocked the warrior's blade with the flat of his shield. "Fool!" The man rasped as he stepped back, "You'll find only your death here, and I shall drink from your skull!" He made another wide swing, and Rakhnar side stepped it, rounding his sword to slice at the warrior's exposed arm. It connected, and blood dripped from his blade as the wound sprayed forth precious crimson ichor. But, the warrior cared not, he brought his massive blade around, and arched a heavy swing overhead which crashed into the tiles below as Rakhnar evaded. The dwed pushed his advantage, eager to pierce the warrior's exposed side, though was forced to step aside and block as the warrior's blade nearly connected with his own unprotected torso. Rakhnar stood steadfast, blade and battered shield in hand, as the massive warrior stared him down. "Foolish mortal." The warrior hissed, "You think you can best a Champion of Armok, God of Blood?" The dwarf could hear it's heavy footsteps as he approached. Rakhnar steadied himself, and as the warrior raised his sword high, the dwarf sidestepped and lunged, anticipating the champion's sloppy overhead swing. But, it would prove a fatal mistake as his gut was kicked swiftly with enough force to knock him on his back. Rakhnar let go of his blade as he gasped for air, the pain in his chest blunt and heavy. He reached out for the blade, just a bit too far to grasp. He felt massive hands grab his form, and he found himself staring straight into the crimson eyes of the champion before being thrown aside like a ragdoll across the broken, bone laden ground. "Enough." A voice boomed. Rakhnar gazed up, his body aching from the throw and kick, and his eyes once again widened at the sight before him. The throne was now occupied. Before him stood a man with skin pale as bone, and pulsing red veins which flowed with precious life-blood. His face was sharp, and his eyes a bright crimson which burned red smoke. From his head protruded two large horns that arched skywards, he looked down at the prone dwed with a stoic gaze. Armok, Spirit of War and Rage "You are strong, mortal, but also weak." The demonic looking entity spoke, "Your sword arm is swift, but your eyes are blurry and fogged over." He leaned down, "Your heart is honorable, but your mind is cautious and slothful." Rakhnar got up, and stood before the skull throne and it's master, "Where am I?" He muttered out weakly. "You are in my realm." The Spirit said, "I am Armok, the God of Blood. The Lord of Rage. The Harbringer of War." Armok boomed, "And I have brought you here to test your mettle." Rakhnar opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. "You have a vision." Armok started, "A dream, perhaps. And you know how to achieve it." The Lesser leaned back, "But, you let temperance cloud your reality. Nothing changes without action, you know this." Rakhnar could only nod. It was true, he'd spent decades seeking knowledge and wisdom to combat the Dark Ones. To try and achieve his vision of peace and plenty for the world, and his idle hands had only led to more pain and suffering. "You have the spirit of a warrior, yet you let it be drowned by the bickering in your mind. 'What if this' and 'What about that'." Armok said mockingly, "But today, you showed that the heart of a warrior will always triumph. You faced down my champion with courage and skill, rather than fall to your knees and beg. You were outmatched from the very beginning, yet you faced your enemy on your feet, rather than bow your head and succumb. You gave your life in battle." Rakhnar looked behind him, and saw the Champion standing there, his blade mere inches away from him, held there as blood dripped from his wound. Rakhnar realized he'd have perished had Armok not stopped the fight. He looked back to the Lesser, "But what of the others?" He said, "If I seek out conflict, I will put them in all danger." "Conflict has already found you, mortal." Armok replied, "It is your idleness that allowed your life to be swept away from you. Your sloth that tore your family apart. Your submission to your mind that has let the world grow dark." Armok gazed over the dwarf with his smoking eyes, "But, I can change that. I can give you the ability to bring peace. I can give you the rite of valor. I can give you the power to protect your family, and all that is good." Images of his wife and friends flashed across his mind. The time an olog maimed his love. All the years of darkspawn hunting his god-daughter. The heralds that seek to devour the world. The demons that now prowl the lands where he lives. Rakhnar had, despite his best efforts, always been powerless to stop these things. He'd been too busy scouring the world's libraries, or wandering the wilderness, dreaming of the day they would be truly safe. "Such a dream could be a reality." Armok nodded, "And all I ask is that you fight in my name. Kill in my name." Armok grinned, "Let your blade drink the blood of those who oppose us. The world shall know me, Armok! God of Blood!" Rakhnar felt his soul burn with the fire of rage. His fists clenched, his teeth grit, and he slammed his eyes shut as he fell to his knees. His veins pulsed with adrenaline, and he felt his arm instinctively go to the bloody blade he'd held before, cutting his hands upon it's chipped edge and he raised it into the air. "RRRAAAAAGGGGHHH!" He gave a blood-curdling scream. Armok grinned, and waved his hand, and Rakhnar felt himself flung from the realm of blood and war. In his mind he felt only rage. Rage against the Darkness. Rage against those who'd harm him. Rage against those who cursed his family. Rage for war. Rage for blood. Rage against the man who'd deceived him for so long... [Spirit Pact with Armok, Lesser of Enrohk, 2/3]

Pact Dropped.

Pact Dropped.

@DrunkPapaBear

No matter how many times he'd journeyed to this realm, it never go any less eerie. The landscape seemed dull and grey, and was dominated by clouds that smothered the skies and fog that glided above the ground. He could see far across the empty prairies, but the vast emptiness made him feel terribly small and lonely. Though, some things did bring him comfort: the plains were filled with meadows, with the petal bulbs of flowers peaking up from the sea of fog, swaying in the gentle breeze. He breathed in the air, and it was sweet with their smell; but, they reminded him of Her, and his heart sank again. After sometime trekking through the grey meadows In the distance he spotted that familiar small patch of trees he'd been wandering towards, and quickened his pace. He soon came upon that woodland which was filled explicitly with wisteria trees, their long flowers pushed along in the wind. He felt he could lay by their trunks and spend the last of his dark days there, but, there came that tug upon his heart, and he continued further into the woods. It wasn't long before he came to the clearing within. In the middle laid a pond of water which seemed to shimmer a purple hue, reflecting the faces of the trees and flowers that surround it. But, that was not why he was here. Just above the pool, floating just above it's magenta surface, was a woman. She was tall and slender in build, clad in a thin white dress, and adorned with fine jewelry of many kinds; her long snow-white hair seemed to wander off in many directions, as if suspended in an ethereal sea, and her face was very fair, with purple eyes that poured gently forth a mist of the same hue. She noticed him immediately, and smiled warmly. Kana, Spirit of Guidance, Wisdom, and Emotion "It is good to see you again, Rakhnar." The woman spoke with a voice soft as silk. The dwarf gave her a faint smile, "And to you, Kana." Kana floated forth towards him, hovering just above the blades of grass and swaying flower bulbs, "This is the second day in a row you have sought me out, is there a reason?" "No reason in particular." Rakhnar replied. As he looked upon her, his heart was filled with woe, Kana's resemblance to Her was uncanny, "I just enjoy your company." He admitted, despite the pain in his chest. The Lesser smiled at him, "I don't mind the company." She said, "I do quite enjoy our talks." She glided over to the pool, lowering herself within, and resting herself upon the shore. Rakhnar followed her, and sat by the edge of the waters. And they talked for a long time. "You've trusted me with many things, Rakhnar." Kana eventually said as she ran her hand along the petals of a flower idly, "I must now trust you with something." Rakhnar nodded, "What would you have of me?" Her misting eyes looked over him, "Be my vessel. Allow me to bring comfort to the comfortless through your actions and words. Take the pain and sorrow from them using my influence. Free them of such burdens. Show the world that I care...as I have cared for you." She smiled warmly. The dwarf felt himself overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness and sorrow, as if every despairing moment leaped out from the vaults of his mind and crashed against his heart and soul. He felt stuck, trapped even, by the wave of emotion. Then, it was over, and he felt himself leaving Kana's presence. "She loves you..." He heard Kana's voice echo distantly, "...even if you'll never see her again." [Spirit Pact with Kana, Lesser of Ogrol. 1/3]

Rakhnar had sat in the fields of flowers there in the clearing before the Spirit, and he'd spent many long hours speaking with her, unknowing of her true nature. Though, even if he had known it, that the face of such a Spirit was just a façade hiding a much darker core, he doubt he would have cared in the moment.

MC Name: GrenadierGaming Discord: Halberdier Image: Description of Image: This is a shop logo, should occupy 1 map Dimensions: 1

"After everything the Acolytes did fer' Valdev and it's people, this is how they are repaid." The dwarf grunted as he read the missive, "The old man was right, never trust a Haenseman." He'd long ago packed up his things from his old home in the city, and collected the last of his dues. With a pack upon his back, Rakhnar stepped onto the road and strode towards distant lands, his BSK beret having been long burnt, the last revenant of his loyalty to that accursed kingdom gone.

"A new champion has risen, HEKETA KALTHET!" The Warrior-Priest of Shab Nebkhet-Sha cried out as he read the missive posted to Rah'tuma's notice board.

The dwarf read over this missive, his red eyebrow arched at the mention of Rah'tuma, "Heiress of Rah'tuma, huh?" He put the paper down, "Oh sweet Panya, the Pharaoh is goin' ta' be pissed."

[!] A Missive would be posted to the public notice board in Valdev, as well as delivered to the Royal Duma and the King and Queen of Haense via Lector-Skull. [!] Tech-Lector's Response on the Edict of Cleansing Drafted on the 16th day of Msitza ag Dargund of 524 E.S. By Rakhnar Uristson, Forgemaster and Armsman of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, Ordinance Officer of the Sacred Guard of Owyn, Lector-Alchemist "Take hold of this blade, a symbol of holiness, and by it you shall cleanse mankind of sin." Dark has grown these days. The light shines dimly and the shadows grow long, their tendrils entangled in deep places where one cannot see. These are trying times for good and holy folk everywhere. In the lands I call home, here in the Dual Kingdom of Haenseti-Ruska, folk know this struggle greater than most. The Great War against the Veletzers. The dreadful raids of the Harrower and Necromancers, the infiltration of our society by Inferai, the Kidnapping of Royals at the hands of Orcs, and the Murder of the Venerated Queen Amaya. All just to name a few. I am an honored citizen of Valdev and this Kingdom. I have fought and bled in her wars as a soldier in the Brotherhood, slayed many foes to protect her people and her lands, labored in the fields to provide ration for her armies, toiled in the armories to forge her weapons of war. I’ve served her community in Valdev’s taverns during my early days here, assisted in public construction projects, and have done my civic duty in paying taxes and giving alms to the poor and needy. Never once asking for payment or reward in return. But, I am also a Canonist, a servant of God, and a proud member of The Lectorate of Exalted Owyn and the Sacred Guard, a Holy Order which has not only now been cast away and reduced to a ‘cult’ in the eyes of the Koeng and the Duma, but has even been outlawed and banished in accordance with the Edict of Cleansing as issued by the Crown of the Dual Kingdom. In these days where the enemies of Horren’s Folk and the Lord God are abundant and plentiful, it baffles me that we would turn upon our own. Within the Edict, the Lectorate of Owyn have been accused of many things, spoken of as borderline crimes against not only the Kingdom but to God himself, many of which are simply blatant falsehoods and accusations, while others are the results of simple misunderstandings. I aim to address these accusations directly. Firstly, we have been spoken of using magicks, as if we are some accursed void sorcerers or demon-worshippers. The Lectorate has always made use of simple and advanced alchemy throughout its history, and we are no different. The practice of Alchemy and the use of Animii constructs are, while practiced by few in the Dual-Kingdom, not illegal or unsanctified by the Church of Canon. So I cannot fathom why its use in this particular case would be spoken of in a bad light. Secondly, we are accused of disgracing and defiling the dead, as if we are blood mages or necromancers. I can understand this misconception, specifically in our use of Lector-Skulls. Simply put, these skulls are in no way, shape, or form made of organic material, dead or otherwise. They are forged of iron, and made to match the likeness of fallen Lectors and Warriors who had a wish in life to continue their service beyond the Seven Skies, even if it is purely symbolic. Moreover, I would say that the Order’s use of the skull as a common icon upon our tapestries and arms and armor are highly symbolic, bringing forth a personification of the constant struggle and sacrifice of the men and women who fight and die to preserve light and holiness, as well as being a very literal anatomical representation of Mankind, as no other descent race has a skull exactly in the shape of that of a Man. Lastly, we are spoken of polluting the rivers and air around the city. This we understand to be a valid reason for concern. Our Manufactorim, or simply Factory, does produce smoke from coal fuel, as well as slag waste from the production of steel, both of which are dispensed in the most efficient manner possible through stacks and river-dumping. However, it is worth saying that before plans for construction were even blueprinted, the Order had worked closely with His Majesty King Aleksandr, God rest his soul, as well as the Stewarts of Valdev and the Office of the Royal Treasury to ensure that the sight for construction was distant enough so that the waste products would not affect the populace and fauna of the lands surrounding Valvev and Waltonburg, and that construction would be done with as little environmental effect as possible. It is also worth noting that the method of disposing of the slag was temporary until we could construct and install a sophisticated slag removal system, which would recycle the slag for different uses. The Order has ensured that the construction of the factory was done with the complete consent of the Crown and the Duma, was built within the defined guidelines and requirements laid out for us by the Crown and its Offices, only for it to now be scheduled for demolition after months of labor without so much as a word spoken to the Lectorate. Now, with the written issued laid out and addressed, I would write here a list of the Blessed Labors and Virtues the Order and it’s Guard have brought during our service in Valdev and the Dual-Kingdom. - Aiding on many occasions the Brotherhood of Saint Karl in joint-operations. Fighting and dying alongside our fellow brothers and sisters in arms. - Including the assaults made on the Harrower’s forces, the siege of the Shadow Raiders encampment, the efforts made to reclaim Castle Morteskvan, as well as numerous skirmishes with the Harrower’s forces. - Provided a rapid-response defense force for Waltonburg and it’s people in the absence of the Brotherhood. - The destruction of necromantic forces scouring the graveyards of Waltonburg. - The destruction of an Azdrazi raiding party on Waltonburg, which resulted in the An-Gho routing his forces. - The repelling and defeat of numerous Ferryman and Orc raiding parties during the Great Coalition War. - The destruction of a demonic knight whose aim was to maim a young Chris Weiss and other children. - The production of arms and armor for the Brotherhood of Saint Karl during the Great Coalition War. - The production of cannon and powder for the Brotherhood of Saint Karl during the Great Coalition War. - The production of medical supplies and alchemical medicine for the Clinic of Valdev and the Brotherhood of Saint Karl. - Providing advanced medical care to the sick and wounded, as well as giving Animii limb replacements to those who need it free of charge, in the name of charity. - Providing training in the arts of metalworking, alchemy, and medicine free of charge to the citizens of Valdev and the Dual-Kingdom. - Providing clergy services to the good people of Canon, including officiating weddings, baptisms, and performing funeral rites. - Providing care and upkeep to holy grounds around the Chapel in Waltonburg at no expense of the Kingdom or the Church. - Aiding in construction of various infrastructure, including roads, bridges, and fortifications. These are just to name the major actions and projects we have conducted during our time in the Dual-Kingdom. In conclusion to all this, I can only ask one thing: why? Why has the Crown and the Duma suddenly turned upon us, when we have done nothing but good for the Kingdom and her people? The Lectorate cannot understand such a sudden, radical shift in attitude and doctrine. We would implore the Koeng and the Duma to reconsider their decisions made in the Edict. We are open to negotiate and speak with the Crown and the Duma should there be room for negotiations. We are all people of God, and aim to serve him righteously and with unwavering faith; so in these trying times we should not seek to cast down our brothers, but lift them up. The Lectorate shall await the response to this missive. God bless you all.

"Heketa Dorabek!" Rakhnar cried as he watched a foul Isfetian agent be tossed into the crocodile pits.

"All foul and dark things shall learn to fear the Purging Waters! HEKETA HESTHOR! HEKETA KA'TAU!" The dwed shouted behind his golden Te'tu mask, pumping his spear high in the air in salute to the Gods.

Rakhnar had been charging up the slopes toward the foul Vicar and his ritual when he was nearly knocked to his feet at the great explosion and crackling of energy. His glowing cyan eye, crackling with Hesthor's magic, widened in shock and awe. "Ah, cripe."