|
|
| |
|
| ||
|
|
The right of Sean McKeown to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of these documents may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, scanning and recording, for any purpose, without the express written consent of Sean McKeown.
|
|
Ah, the pain of battle wounds, of shattered bones and rent flesh! And
the agony of healing, accelerated by the death mana that runs strongly through
these withered veins... how splendid a reminder to keep my mind at task! In my
pain of healing wounds, a certain clarity of thought comes to me.
The time for rash, impulsive death is over, for I see now the One Way to
achieve my goals. Let the dance be struck up anew; let this battle and this
glorious death blossom into a thing of ghastly beauty...
I rejoin the battle, reclaiming my dark heritage and reaffirming that
the strength of Aku is with me. I summon the winds of Urborg from the Northern
Lands, and as I touch the wellspring of darkness that is my abysmal soul I name
myself its Stalker. I will mete out the justice of Urborg upon the righteous,
and may the Keeper have mercy upon their souls, those who escape the full reach
of my wrath!
The wizards around me have fallen back to defensive positions along the
mountain ridges. With a thought, made action by the touch of my Dark Gift, I
recall my runed sword Glithonael, Glimmer-death in the ancient language of the
Thran, and raise it high to strike my foes. Thunder rolls at my back, and I
rush forwards to extinguish the light of life.
Darkness once again covers my vision, and the light of life nearly
blinds me with its enticing vibrance. I lay upon myself enchantments to strike
fear into the hearts of men, enchantments which tie around me strands of
darkness that make me one with the night. The light of life flares bright in
front of me, and I strike Glithonael home. The light holds on, refusing to
gutter and go out, and I feel the blood pool at my feet as I pull free the
blade. The light rages, refusing defeat, and the mage makes small attempts at
healing the gaping chest wound that to most others would be a sign of the end.
Something base and uncontrollable rages loose of my control, and I hack
demonically at the initiate. Limbs flail at my assault, and a scream fills the
air. Still the flame does not go out; it flickers in the wind of impending
death, but it does not lose its hold.
The head is mine, with a sawing motion, and the flame rises to rejoin
its Maker. I would claim it, but it fades fast from view and I have much yet to
do. The Bringer of Death has much yet to do.
I seek the next light.
This one is stronger than the last, the fire shines with an intensity I
feel to my core. Unfortunately... for this mage at least... the wizard never
even knows I am there, and I drink deeply of her life-force to replenish my
strength. With another swift hack, her light is no more...
I rise.
I seek the next light, and Death reigns from above. Swift as a fallen
Angel am I, unrelenting in my onslaught as I am wont to be. The veil of
darkness shows me where, and I use fire to surprise this one. In a blaze the
mage dies, and I do not even bother to claim the soul as my servant. His light
wafts upward as so much smoke, and I lose myself once more, my redeeming pain
now forgotten, to spread a wave of pox from my fingertips that rattles the bones
of each wizard on the mountain.
I rise.
I continue, light after light after light, raining destruction upon my
enemies. A spirit of power I am, a spirit of evil, and only when I stop seeing
the lights so easily do I become once again earthbound.
Johan Angelfire, the taskmaster, he who constructed the Greater Realm,
is the last man standing. A powerful and noble man is he, this warrior-mage,
wise in the crafts of the White Way. Clothed in fine, silken garb beneath a
shimmering mail of finest silver, he looks the part of nobility well. Despite
the obvious fatigue and drained powers from the Armageddon spell, he holds his
chin high. His noble beard, only beginning to gray with his extreme age... for
the man is clearly a Walker, although probably a weak one... points at me as if
to dare me to confront him.
"You, who have seen what I can do to your compatriots and pupils, would
face me," I call out to him. The light recedes, the veil of darkness in my
vision returns to normal.
His hand slides to the sword at his belt, gripping it through a
blood-splattered gauntlet. "I am stronger than all of my pupils combined," he
retorts. "You shall not face me and be victorious, by the Wrath of God this I
swear!"
"Then let there be drawn a circle in the mountaintop, and we will put
your faith to the test!" I raise Glithonael high, calling thunder towards me,
and I lash out at the mountaintop; bolts of lightning rain from the sky to burn
a field of challenge into the rock. Johan throws up wards upon himself, most
wisely not trusting me. I playfully poke a lightning bolt at him, testing his
power and draining from his inner resolve and certainty.
"Creature of evil, I shall not let thee pass! Justice shall see that
the righteous do not fall in vain!"
From across the forming circle I question him. "Are you so certain in
your God, so assured of your rightful place in Heaven, that you would seek to be
the instrument of Divine Vengeance, Angelfire?" I begin probing his mind,
planting seeds of terror in deep and hidden places.
"My Lord is He-Who-Created-All, God of the righteous. I can do naught
but be my namesake to halt an evil like you," he replies, haunting supplication
and utter faith rebounding throughout his voice. My iron grasp on the powers of
Darkness wavers, but once more my conviction on the strength and utter sanity of
the Devil’s Path grows firm. Like a mirror, his righteousness grows likewise.
For a brief second, he shines.
"Fool, to worship a deity you cannot prove exists! Where was your God
to save your followers? I follow my Keeper, for I have felt his fury, and I now
walk his Path."
Johan’s inner strength only grows, his resolve holds firm. He is almost
luminous, and with dreadful certainty he steps to his place inside the Circle.
For a second I pity him, for thinking I will fight honorably; I join him at the
opposite side of this monstrous circle with a twist of power and a burst of
strength.
I bow to him, my withered face twisting to a grimacing smile at the
thought of him expecting honor from one such as me. He does not so much as
remove his eyes from me for a second, much less return the bow. The challenge
has been struck, and now it is time for Death to take him, for me to hold claim
to his soul in the name of the Keeper.
The darkness comes before my eyes as I plan the strategic first blow.
His light is so bright, so filled with the passions of the living, that I cannot
bear to look at it lest I be tainted by it.
The abyss of my soul flings forth death mana in abundance to fuel my
first blow. I draw strength from Aku, mana from the lakes choking with the
dead, and fling forth a spell to drain his life.
He blocks the spell deftly with a Circle of Protection, although
staggering at the force of it. A show of my force has knocked him from his
feet, and with a touch of the Blue I hurl a mystic dagger to slash his arm.
I hate when I do not draw the first blood. That, at least, has been
fulfilled.
"Sneaky, sneaky, Sith gar Kan. But you are not he, you merely wear his
bones. I know your dueling style... Kaervek," he says, while destroying the
blade now unbidden by my will.
Johan steps forward, creating a spell and thrusting it towards me. The
mana flows from the earth to his fingertips, weaving there a spell of holy
nature. With a jolt I am struck by a force of piety, and my fighting-stance
slackens momentarily. I fight the holy forces creeping through me, disrupting
my spiritual connection with Aku, my liege, the mana ties I hold... everything
shrinks from it until I am left alone to fight the righteousness Johan Angelfire
held inside of him. Our minds connect peacefully, and I can do naught to turn
the connection against him with warps, twists, or hymns.
‘Such is the power of the righteous, the powers of serenity and
abeyance,’ he speaks into my mind. Though I try to howl back at him pithy
insults and shouts to loosen his hold, all I can do is justify my ways to
myself. Such is the way of the magics; some spells demand you to know yourself
well to wriggle from their grasps.
My resolve fails me, and I am caught in a trap of reason. Stupefied, I
think I fall to my knees. Johan battles with me inside my own head now, and he
is indeed a strong foe. I twist and turn through the maze, using logic and
reason to probe the limits of the spell in hopes of learning a weakness.
There is none, but still I continue to writhe in the trap.
‘You cannot escape... that way...’ he tells me. His countenance appears in the
astral plane presiding over my imprisonment. "All I do I do for the greater
purpose,’ I think towards him. ‘Death feeds off of life, such is the natural
order as has been since the dawn of Creation. My place is the Endbringer... for
what would be the meaning of life if it continued eternally?’
‘Your place is here, under magical control. You are a filthy animal and
deserve no better than to be treated as such.’
‘Who are you to judge? I see things differently.’
Johan Angelfire stares down at me, his eyes boring into my very soul.
‘I am the one who will banish you... for me, that is sufficient,’ he replies.
The holy nature pins me once again, and I feel the pain I have brought upon
others through intense karma.
My mind looks backwards with the Inner Eye, to my challenge of Lim-Dûl,
the lord Necromancer. He, too, looked down upon me and spoke these words.
"Kaervek, self-styled Bringer of Death... I am the one who will banish
you. Know the name, for I wish the Keeper to see my strength and handiwork..."
Never again. Never again will I know such torment!
The abyss rises up in me again, blinding me to sanity and reason. The
past and the present become one, and my fury flails at them both.
Lim-Dûl stares down at me now, binding me with white mana. His
curiously white raiments are splattered with the blood of the fallen, and he
stares at me proudly, almost birdlike, at my disadvantage.
I undo the holy bonds, now weaker than before. Lim-Dûl thought me
defeated, he believed his spell had claimed me.
‘You do not have the power to banish me, dark spirit,’ I say to him now,
staring Lim-Dûl in his compassionless eyes. ‘Never again can such a thing be
done to me!’
Free of magical shackles once again, I will show Lim-Dûl defeat... his own!