[IC] The Coming of Tuska [Conor & Tyler]

[Conor]

It was a warm summer’s day atop the mountain, where the Monkblood Stronghold of Monsyaf proudly sat, blocking out the sun from the valley below. Huge beacons of stone protruded from the cliff faces, forming a great citadel in which only a small few lived.
Inside the walls, peaceful gardens swayed with a mountainous breeze, and the maroon fabrics the Monsyaf inhabitants wore danced in unison. Birds sang as they took solace in the peach tree blossoms, and frogs croaked quietly in the tiny ponds that lay beneath. But there was one that, despite the peace, could be anything but.
Jahrun was making a racket on the balancing beams, hopping from one to another as if gravity had no influence on his monkey-like self. He leapt and flipped from beam to beam, his center of gravity perfectly balanced as the wood rocked from side to side slightly with each foot placement. In the sun, his jet-black hair shone brightly, and with his robes they created a dance of their own as Jahrun continued to practice. However, he was taken off-guard by a sudden voice.

“We train to fight our foes, not dance with them!” barked Walud, anther one of the Monks, though of lower ranking than Jahrun. However, unlike most, Walud despised his peer, rather than admired him – and this was much to Jahrun’s annoyance. “Why must you jump around like a rabid ape?”
Jahrun made on last flip, a purposefully impressive one, off of the beams and landed softly onto the stone they were imbedded into, coming face to face with Walud as if it were just as easy as walking up to him.

“Would you want to fight a rabid ape?” Jahrun asked cockily, a slight smirk on his face and the size difference between the two became clear once again. Walud was a strong fighter, but Jahrun was of a Master rank – the youngest of his kind, and as a result he lacked the humility and grace that usually came with it.

“I am not here to exchange childish blows,” Walud retreated, a scoff escaping Jahrun’s lips as he went “I am here to tell you that the Grand Masters have requested for you, immediately.”

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t keep them waiting,” Jahrun purred as he pushed past his younger peer, Walud shooting him a look as his shoulder was knocked backwards suddenly “Probably important business. I’ll let you know if you’re worthy of such knowledge.”

Jahrun's legs carried him with a hasty spring as he made his way through the Citadel and up to the Council Chambers, located at the very top of the Stronghold. It was a hefty climb, but for a young Monkblood approaching his peak, it was a forgiving 22 minute sprint, exactly. And as the young monk tirelessly came to a halt at the huge brass doors that had kept the Council Chambers unscathed for centuries, he couldn't help but think what awaited him on the other side. Praise, most likely. Perhaps a reward of some kind? For outstanding performance in combat, surely. He was undefeated among his peers, this much was true. Unfortunately, however, the truth was that Jahrun was completely ignorant towards the matters at hand.
The doors let out a metallic howl, and slowly began to part in the middle. But there was no blinding, heavenly light on the other side. Instead, there was a single man.
He was dressed head to toe in long, grey robes, an ominous hood masking his face. Only a weathered beard poked out, and it swayed up and down as the man spoke.

"Enter, child." the man spoke softly. Jahrun bowed for a moment, before following the man inside.

This wasn't the first time Jahrun had been in the Council Chambers, though it was the first time in recent years. Jahrun had been brought in here exactly fifteen years ago, when he was taken in by the Monkbloods and initiated into the Brotherhood. The ritual was underwhelming overall, but an experience nonetheless, one that would stick in the back of Jahrun's mind to this very day. And as his bare feet stepped onto the cold marble floor, the sound of his own footstep echoing inside the great hall, towering over him from all angles as it was, brought back the memory. Like a steel fist.

"What do the Grand Masters ask of me?" Jahrun asked, forgetting his place instantly. He was not rewarded with an answer. Instead, he got a long, painfully slow stroll through the Cathedral-esque quarters that acted as the beating heart of the Monkblood Stronghold of Monsyaf. Though as grand as it all seemed, the atmosphere was blacked over, shadowed from whatever gave the rest of the Citadel such radiance and aura. The entire Strong may be made of stone, but the Council Chambers felt unnatural.
Eventually, the robed man led Jahrun to the far end of the hall, where a raised platform curved around a stage-like area, staring down from above like a theater. Here, Jahrun was the performer, and as he looked upwards towards the raised platforms, he saw six figures, each sat in their own stone seats. Simultaneously they stood, each figure's eyes locked on Jahrun's presence beneath pure black cowls. Their robes reached down to the floor, creating a sea of cloth at their feet, and their limbs were hidden from sight by the intricate details in the fabric. But, from where he was standing, Jahrun only saw six menacing figures, staring down at him, their motives unknown.
Jahrun looked back at the grey-robed man who had led him this far, but all he had to give was a simple bow of the head, before he dematerialised into the shadows like sand caught in the wind. Jahrun turned back, then bowed his head low.

"Grand Masters, may I ask why you have summoned me?" Jahrun asked the floor, his eyes fixated on his own feet, lest they stray somewhere dangerous.

"For years this Brotherhood has protected the many Provinces of this Realm." began one of the Grand Masters "The peaks of its mountains, the islands of its shores, and the hearts of its cities - our influence was omniscient, but our presence was a myth. We were, and still are, the guardians of this land. Are you aware of this, Jahrun?"

"Yes, Grand Master. A Monkblood's duty, as a member of the Brotherhood, is to do all he can for the good of the Realm." Jahrun recited, preying he got it right.

"And why is this?" another Grand Master called in, this time a softer, motherly voice. Jahrun quickly replied.

"Because true peace can never truly be. The people are too blind, their leaders too corrupt. We must parent this land, in hopes to not reform it completely, but to guide it to a new state." There was a passing silence from the answer, and for a moment Jahrun thought he could feel his heart running down his leg.

"Yes. We are not rulers, we are a service. One none need pay for, such is their right. Such is our destinies..." another Grand Master, Jahrun's head darting to the source with haste "But not yours, Jahrun."
Confused, the young monk said nothing, and instead awaited enlightenment.

"Are you aware of The Prophecy, Jahrun?" the motherly voice asked.

"Word for word, Grand Master." Jahrun replied strongly.

"Then you will know of the cause for it." the voice continued.

"Yes, Grand Master. The coming of Tuskan. An almighty God. The World Eater, as some scrolls have referred to it... but a story I never truly believed." Jahrun looked to the floor, gathering his thoughts quickly as if that's where they were scattered. @Forgive me, Grand Masters, but I must ask... have you summoned me to test my knowledge of the Brotherhood?"
A single chuckled emitted across the walls just loud enough for Jahrun to hear.

"The time has come, child." announced an unheard voice, but one Jahrun definitely recognised "We have received a sign. A vision. The end is nigh, for the coming of Tuskan is upon us. And you, child, are our saviour, as the prophecy had foretold."

And just like that, the biggest news of Jahrun's life had just been invested upon him. The urge to burst into a belly laugh was the first sensation that ran through Jahrun's body, but as he came to realise his situation - inside the Council Chamber, in the company of the Grand Masters, he realised there was little to laugh about here. Instead, Jahrun took a deep breath, and asked his next question.

"How long do we have?"

"It is unclear, but the Council have estimated six month's until the end comes. The Realm will become aware in three month's time." answered one of the Grand Masters.

"And I am lead to believe that this is the truth, for you envisioned it?" Jahrun snarled, ovrstepping a mark.

"You question our gifts, boy?" came a much harsher voice, putting Jahrun back down into his place.

"No Grand Master, but you must understand my skepticism. Why me?" he asked.

"We are merely guides, Jahrun, you know this full well. We cannot provide the answers, only show you the way." assured the motherly voice "You must travel to Sovendaal, a small hamlet East of the River Mort. Once there, ask for a farmer named Hands. He will guide you further."

"And what of here? Am I to simply leave home?" Jahrun asked, panic in his voice, anger, even.

"This is not about you, Jahrun. It is about something far bigger than yourself." snapped a voice once more "Do you not realise, child, that this is the start of your service?" The question bounced off of Jahrun's mind like an insect, and he quickly moved onto his next worry.

"And of the people? They will be informed, yes?"

"To what purpose, child? The last thing the Realm needs is for its people to burst into panic." the same voice replied, disallowing Jahrun's escape "Otherwise, we don't die together, we die apart. Do NOT compromise the Brotherhood."

"You leave tomorrow, at first light." came another voice "A horse will be ready for you. Dismissed."

With little left to say anyway, Jahrun quickly span on his heels and marched out of the Council Chambers. Then, his march turned into a jog, until finally the young monk was sprinting full speed through the Citadel gardens with only the comfort of his room in mind. And as he jumped onto his light bamboo bed, and dug his head deep into his pillow, the man began to weep.

---

The next morning Jahrun awoke with sore, tired eyes. He was quickly ready, though. Jahrun had learned from an early age to consciously block our apposing thoughts, allowing himself to focus only on the task at hand, devoid of emotions that might otherwise alter his course. And so, Jahrun hopped onto his black horse Milia, with only a sack full of supplies and the robes upon his body.

"Might be best to avoid The Capital on your way down, and instead go around towards Woodfoot." came a familiar voice. Jahrun, tired and tunnel-minded, looked down to see Walud's face staring right back at him. He had been readying his horse the entire time.

"Uh... why?" Jahrun asked, still trying to adjust to his greatest enemy adjusting his reins.

"There's a Realm Meeting happening in the Great Forum. Might be best to stray away from that kind of attention." Walud explained. And, like magic, a wave of motivation and hope washed over Jahrun like the cold tides of the North. A smirk forced it's way onto his face as his eyes brightened, a better idea stewing in the man's grey matter.
He looked down to Walud, only to see that he was now holding up a parcel to him. Jahrun took it, and examined it.

"New robes." Walud explained in a surprisingly non-opinionated way "The Grand Masters instructed me to give them to you."

"The Grand Masters instructed you to do something?" Jahrun asked. Walud nodded. "Then may the God's help us, the Brotherhood has officially fallen.@ he mocked before spurring Milia and galloping out of the Citadel gates, unto the horizon below.

[Tyler]

The Grand Lunar Lodge was, for all intents and purposes, largely impractical. The most important building in Moonclan culture, made of smooth, dark stone and residing at the top point of the crescent-moon shaped island, was decidedly 'out of reach' to the small but efficient community of sorceresses. Selene Miakoda was one such mage; the youngest of the Moonclan, she had grown decidedly distant from the rest of the women on the island, and as she floated up the great peak upon which the lodge was situated, she cursed quietly to herself at her predicament.

She had been experimenting with magic for some time. Selene had a different mindset to the rest of the tribe; no, that was giving herself too much credit. She was certain there had to be others who thought like her among them, but... None dare act upon their beliefs. To Selene, the mysterious magical powers that were inherited by all who lived on the island were no less than a gift from Hecate herself. To waste such power on trivialities such as chores was just laziness. The Moonclan were destined for greatness and empowered by the goddess of the moon and magic, and yet they did nothing; claiming it was "against their way" to use magic to enforce power over others. That, they say, is why the Moonclan kept so isolated from the rest of the world. It was to avoid the temptation to use their magic to prosper.

Selene pushed some of her silver locks up beneath her huge hat, which she pulled down further over her face as she approached the large doors of the lodge, emblazoned with the tribe's crescent moon symbol within a large, circular metal frame. Along the frame were various runic symbols, and diagrams depicting the phases of the lunar cycle. Selene paid them little mind as she held out a hand and placed her palm against the icon, illuminating the inscriptions with brilliant lavender light. The doors opened.

Inside, a large group of Moonclan seemed to be waiting for her, their stern gazes locked upon the young witch as she entered. By this point, Selene cared little for what they thought. Ever since she was caught dabbling in things she shouldn't, it had become apparent that her days in the clan were numbered. Which honestly, she found to be quite amusing, considering that excommunication from the tribe was practically unheard of.

"You're late," hissed Meteora, the Grand High Elder. She ran things around here and was at least a century old, but her Moonclan blood made her seem not a day over fifty. "Take a seat, Selene."

The seat was, of course, metaphorical, and Selene joined the other witches in crossing her legs and hovering a few feet above the ground. She looked completely disinterested as Rimae, a lesser of the Elders addressed her. "Have you any idea why we have summoned you, young Moonchild?" she jabbed pedantically.

Selene sighed. "Because you're scared of me." she spat back in response. The room fell deathly silent, and all eyes turned back to Meteora, who did a poor job of masking her shock and surprise. It was unheard of for anyone to speak for vehemently before the Grand High Elder.

"Scared, child?" he asked, with faux pleasantry. "What on earth do you mean?"

Selene smirked. "You've watched me open my mind to ideas beyond your understanding," he explained matter-of-factly. "And you've seen me grow in power as a result. You don't know what I'm capable of," she said, pausing to smile for effect. "And that terrifies you."

Some of the Moonclan gasped quietly, others maintained their silence as they waited for Meteora to respond. After what seemed like an age, the Grand High Elder addressed the young sorceress once again. "You are correct," he said softly. "Through sin and sacrilege, you have indeed grown in power. And you have disgraced Hecate and her children - us, your family - in the process." Meteora spoke, eyes locked on Selene. "Ordinarily, you would be sent into exile without forgiveness or pity. However..." she trailed off briefly, before reluctantly continuing her sentence, "...It seems that Hecate has other plans for you. The world is in danger, and each of the world's people are required to put forth their strongest. You alone are fit for combat, in comparison to the rest of us. We are a peaceful people, after all."

Selene's eyes widened. What danger could the world be in? "Does this mean I get to leave?" she asked, excitedly.

Meteora nodded. "It is a blessing for you and for us. You will head South for The Capital. A realm meeting is being held at the Great Forum, and unfortunately you will be representing the Moonclan." she paused. "We will prepare your teleportation spell imminently. Go and collect any belongings you wish to take." Meteora paused one final time. "The sooner you are off this island, the better."

[Conor]

Jahrun went on to travel over a hundred miles towards The Capital. He rode through the Midswamps, past the Arch Mage Citadel and even through St. Qasar's Gate, the last remaining artefact of a once great clan, now a delapidated old archway.
Jahrun felt copious wonder from all he saw, appreciating the history and the characters that built, and destroyed, it. He also believed it did, in fact, repeat.
But where Jahrun should have turned he was already 30 miles past. The thought of that boring, dainty farm was a mere speck in the background.
Settlements became more and more common, growing in size as Jahrun galloped his way across the flattening landscape. He would stop for a mere few hours of sleep in between intense treks, using whatever he could as shelter, inn or not. But, what surprised Jahrun was that he was unbothered the entire journey. Not even a single bandit ambush or wolf pack. Understand, for it was not a desire to fight that made Jahrun curious, but the lack of an opportunity. He expected more from these apparently treacherous lands.

And then, there was a city.

Jahrun had arrived at the Capital early in the night, with the Realm Meeting taking place the coming morning. The city, a walled off metropolis with one huge gate as the only entrance located on the East wing, was a sprawling scape of stone and metal, harmonised to form the heart of the Realm. Huge beacons shot into the sky - watch towers and religious spires - and Jahrun stared at them in awe as they peered over the walls of the Capital.
There he stood, at the front gate, waiting in the queue to get in.

The Capital was indeed the heart of the Realm, and therefore it was protected as such. Each coming and going of any civilians was asked about, and regulations were strict. As a result, a huge sea of bystanders was a regular sight around the Capital Gate.

"Business?" Nagged a Capital Guard, his elegant armour showing his high rank. Jahrun, his hood up to conceal his face, winced as the guard gripped his shoulder tight.

"I am the representatives for the Monkbloods. For the Realm Meeting tomorrow." He said softly and truthfully, expecting his honesty to be rewarded. But the guard only laughed.

"Right you are, boy. Away with you." He mocked, throwing Jahrun to one side with ease, and continuing to inspect people. Jahrun, more annoyed through weariness, was reluctant to give in. He quickly joined the queue once more, but was once again stopped, this time by a different guard. But all was going well until the guard from before spotted Jahrun.

"Oi!" He yelled, his armour clanking as he began to match heavily towards Jahrun "I told you before! Piss off!"

Jahrun was quick to slip away before any harm could come of him, sneaking back to his horse and sitting on his failures.

"How are you supposed to even get in this damn place..." Jahrun grumbled to his horse, who simply stared at nothing in particular "Am I supposed to wear a suit or some..." It was then that Jahrun remembered. His robes!
Jahrun quickly searched through his bags to find the robes he had been given by the Elders for his quest. And once he found them, he was quick to change, already noticing the fine silk and material it was made of. But once on, it felt tailored. Like it was made for Jahrun alone.

With a new surge of confidence, Jahrun marched his way back down to the Capital Gate, a barging his way through the crowds with less grace now. And more aggression. He was soon at the front, where the Capital guard, not recognising Jahrun in his new attire, asked his business. Jahrun, with a naive honesty, spoke.

"I am the representative of the Monkbloods. I am-" but Jahrun was quickly silence by a sudden pain in the side of his head. The Capital Guard had back handed him to his knees, and had obviously remembered him.

"That was your final warning, you shit. The Monkbloods are dead!" The guard spat as Jahrun found his footing.

"I am here to save the Realm, as the prophecy fortold!" Jahrun pleased, confused as to why he was in this situation. Why can't he just go in?

"Are you fucking simple? Do I have to spell it out? Fuck off!"

"I can't, I need to attend the Realm Meeting!" Jahrun yelled, now sounding like a man rather than a small boy. But that only encouraged the guard to draw his sword. His peers stood back, ready for a quick bit of action.
The guard marched forward as he drew his sword.

"Then you die, lunatic." Growled the guard, throwing a mighty swing in Jahrun direction. But before he could release it, Jahrun had closed it, too close to be struck by the blade if the sword. A single fist crunched into the guards helmet, puncturing the iron and rattling the skull inside it. Jahrun swung a leg, taking two of the guard's with it, and a bony crunch boomed as the guard hit the floor. Still conscious, he looked up at Jahrun, who eyes radiated.

"I must attend the Realm Meeting. I am the Monkblood Representative. Please let me in." He said

[Conor]

Jahrun was escorted roughly through the Capital and to a "secure location". Once the young monk had flipped a Royal Captain onto his back like he was a small girl, the rest of the guards came to an agreement: Jahrun would enter the Capital, either by escort or arrest, but he would do so with full cooperation, lest he feel the King's wrath himself. Jahrun, unfortunately, was just one, and therefore obliged. And as his horse's hooves trotted behind him as another guard led it, he looked at every escape route he saw, and analysed every opportunity that arose. And yet, he took advantage of none, for he knew that would mean a one-way ticket back to Montsyaf.
Surprisingly, the Capital at night was a fairly peaceful place. Though the narrow streets continued to be littered with civilians going about what looked like, at times, to be very important business - despite the hour - the city did not inherit the general 'feel' it had during the day. For one, Jahrun could hear no voices in the distance.
Three guards escorted Jahrun to a small terraced house that stood out in no way, shape or form. And once inside, it did not stray from the first impression. It was as poor as it seemed to be. His horse was tethered outside, and Jahrun was led in. He looked back at the guards after scanning the 'front room'.

"You stay here tonight, monk. You're not allowed to leave. We will call you in the morning and escort you to Capital hall. Until then," the guard creaked the door to, so that only his head peeked through the crack "sweet dreams."
The door closed and Jahrun creased his face with a mixture of confusion and cringe. He scanned the room again quickly, noticing nothing of important but a ladder leading to an upstairs loft. He quickly jumped up and saw what he had longed for since leaving.

A bed.

[Tyler]

Selene's journey to the Capital had been one of swiftness and relative ease. Teleportation magic was highly advanced and required a group effort, but there was no shortage of skilled mages on the Lunar Isle. She had scoffed upon her arrival, finding herself in a wooded area a good distance from the Capital Gate. "All this power, with so little skill." she quipped to herself, and began to dream of the days where she alone could teleport herself anywhere at will - and with a good deal more precision than her Ancestors, it seemed.

The walk to the Capital took her about thirty minutes. It would have taken any average person a great deal longer, but Selene floated effortlessly above the rich earth and her dainty legs did not tire. She had few belongings with her, save for an ancient-looking staff, emblazoned with icons of the moon and dripping with feather accessories, and a ridiculously large hat that covered her soft, entrancing features. It was typical of the Moonclan; even in old age, they seemed to enamour weaker-willed men without even trying. She pulled her tattered fur shawl around her; although it was a pleasantly warm day, the pale witch was cold.

Selene arrived at the gates and waited in line until it was her turn to be addressed. The process was tiresome, but it was one she understood. They couldn't just have anyone walking into the Capital; there was bound to be someone who would abuse the apparent crisis that lay ahead.

"State your name," ordered a guard.

"Selene Miakoda." she replied, politely.

The guard raised an eyebrow as he spotted the woman's feet hovering casually. "Miss, I am going to have to ask you to be grounded for the remainder of this exchange." he ordered.

Selene frowned. "Sir, that won't be possible." she said, trying her best to remain pleasant. "My people are of the Moonclan. You may not have heard of us. We tend to keep to ourselves." she explained. "We inhabit the Lunar Isle in the far North. The one shaped like the moo--"

"Enough!" the man barked, interrupting her. There was a pause as he scribbled something on the list. "You may pass. Next!" he called out, as Selene was ushered through the gates. As she proceeded, she paused briefly, noticing some sort of squabble erupting between another guard and an unknown man at another of the city's entry points. Selene shook her head. The Capital really did need to teach its guards how to behave respectfully... Especially in times like this.

A friendlier representative of the Capital awaited her inside, and directed her to a vacant building in which she would be staying until the Realm Forum the following day. It was on the outskirts; away from the hustle-and-bustle of the city and was quite poorly looked after, but it didn't bother Selene too much. It was only for a night. The interior of the little house was quite bare, with a ladder leading upstairs to what she assumed would be a bedroom.

Making herself at home, she proceeded to the kitchen area, and waved her hand in the direction of a nearby tea-set. It was cracked and dirty through neglect, but it didn't seem to affect its magickal conductivity as it leapt into the air and danced towards Selene. She smiled as the teapot filled itself with water and flew over to the fireplace, which ignited itself and began to boil away. She looked out the window as she waited, and watched a man be roughly escorted to the house opposite. It was the same man from before.

Selene wondered, should she offer him tea? She had never seen a man in person before, but since coming to the Capital she had seen many. Their features were shape and angled, their hair unkempt, their voices deep. Selene would almost be intimidated if she didn't know what she herself was capable of. A cup of fresh tea landed in her hands. She sipped from it and smiled.

The man across the road could make his own tea.

[Conor]

After taking a few moments to dwell in his hard, but comfortable bed, Jahrun hopped down the hatch again, and into the main room. There, he saw a young woman sipping tea. Her face was concealed, as was Jahrun's, by a huge hat that sat flimsily upon her head. Her hair was wild but delicate and proper, and her figure was dainty and slight. And Jahrun would have thought her a human, if not for her feet, which constantly floated above the ground.

"I don't suppose you're the reason we have a guard outside our door?" she asked, taking Jahrun by surprise, as he thought he was unheard.

"Are you a wizard?" Jahrun asked naively, his eyes fixated on her as she span around to face him. Her eyes exploded with light.

"No, I would be a witch." she grumbled "but no, I'm not, I'm a member of the Moon Clan. I'm there... representative, for the Realm Meeting." she took a step closer to Jahrun, who's eyes were hidden beneath a hood and the dim light of the house. "I assume that's why you're here as well? But on more violent terms, obviously." she mocked.

"Yes." Jahrun replied flatly. The woman looked at Jahrun expectantly, but he was oblivious to the answer he was supposed to give.

"Well..." the woman began, floating closer to Jahrun and holding out a hand, her cup oftea floating in place as she let it go "I'm Serene Maikoda."
Jahrun looked down at the gesture, and reached out to return it. But suddenly, Serene withdrew. Then, like a viper, she gripped Jahrun's wrist firmly, and inspected his hand.

"You have no fingernails..." she mumbled.

"None of the Monkbloods do." Jahrun replied, his face now visible beneath his cowl, but he lowered it anyway. "My name is Jahrun Selassie."