Member
FourtyTwo
Soldat Elf
The Raven Calls
Fetzen
Hannah
Nev
Kaithe Dame
Harrington
NalloreBelivahnn
Part one
The concept of heaven is a place where those above look down upon those walking upon the Earth. It is a concept, many cultures and religions have their own forms of heaven and they have different meanings, different trials to reach, and different names, titles, and depictions. It's where the gods look down upon the mortals they guide, it's where souls go to rest. In some cultures, it is the opposite of hell. A perfect place where souls rest after their praise and lives have been fulfilled to the best of their abilities. People live, fight, love, and die. When a soul goes to heaven, it knows it has lived life to its best and has chosen a pathway guided by belief.
But what happens when the sky above you is flames when the heavens have decided to throw wroth and hate? Is it something you have done, not likely, but priests, demagogues, prophets, and all of the other loud voices may say that it was you, or it was your neighbor, the next town over, some barbaric tribe; blame is all that it is, for sometimes it is nothing but meteors falling from the sky.
But over the skies of Belivahnn, they were alight with fire, rock, dust vaporizing and high speeds as it entered the planet's orbit, burning up in the atmosphere. Still, there was one object that was as bright as a star in the pitch-black sky, it trailed around the planet as it had made several orbiting loops around the planet before getting caught by gravity and bringing a portion of the planet's rocky ring down with it. It circled the planet for an entire day before it began to speed up, and when it finally began its final approach to the surface of the planet, it and the dust it dragged with it began to form wings in the sky as it made its way towards one of the planets few forests in the midlands.
The Knegh forest is a relatively small forest, but it was surrounded by one of the few areas north of most of the kings' reach. Some two hundred people lived there in relatively peaceful lives, but for in beasts, random bandits, or sometimes even a taxation party from one of the southern kingdoms. But tonight, it was a fire. At first, when the artificial sun had died out for a minute after, the wings of death descended from the heavens. The meteor shower had ended, and an older vagabond was yelling about how the son of the planet was born, one who would become a king, a warrior lord, a crusader, a horse rider. The man spoke a thousand words, used through the orders, the tribes, the kingdoms, and the wanderers for terms of endearment that could possibly be used to quell an angered god. Many thought of him as crazy; only a few traders that were in town that night would believe him after that night. Johannesburg was soon to be a grave memory for them, as fire would broil their dreams into nightmares each night after.
When many of the villagers had arrived home, and the vagabond was seen leaving the town, an echo came from the small hills to the east overlooking a lake that separated the village from the forest as a light began to appear. It turned into a thunderous boom as a flash lit the sky back up for a minute and the towering trees of Knegh turned into torches in the night. Next, the creatures of the forest began to flee; those that had made their homes there, those that lived all of their lives under the leaves of the canopy, fled in droves. Heads bobbed in the crystalline reflections in the water as they tried to swim the cold lake water towards the nearest shelter, many of these creatures would drown, but those chose that over being suffocated in smoke or burning in the charnel house of their once home. The town's lights flickered like the safety of a warm sun. There were others that fled from the treelines into fields of grain and vegetables churning the tilled earth like the season had started, but their goal was to run as far as possible from their burning homes.
The villagers not within a gated area or their homes were trampled, cut down by hordes of animals fleeing and searching for shelter. Those that opened their doors in confusion had similar things happen to them as creatures ranging from large quadrupedal beasts to small creatures the size of small dogs and large birds sought a way to hide from the blaze across the lake. As soon as the beasts came, many of them were gone, many others were hiding inside homes, barns, or any shelter they could find. Most were too scared to eat upon the dead carcasses of other animals, people, or stockpiles of grain and food that littered barns and granaries throughout the village. But that only led to something worse because as the edges of the forest began to burn, so did the fields beside it. The thin wooden fencing acts like the wire connecting fire to fields, the bright red paint made from berries known to grow the larve of a local pollinator acting like the promethium fuel inside an engine. Fields went up in flame, the buildings closest to the forest became infernos, and those inside fled to the best of their abilities before being choked out of air, as screaming turned to deaf cries of agony as charred hands scratched for throats. Few made it to the road, but they almost all collapsed, only those who were strong, and those who were loved by the strong made it farther.
Next, the first grainery was caught in flames, and it set off like a bomb as the grains dust set off a low-yield explosive. Debris and fire spread quickly across roads, more fields, and homes. Several tried to take pumps to flood their fields; in hindsight, it was a good idea but done far to late in the catastrophe that was taking place. Buildings burned, screams rang out, people fled, some stayed and tried to fight, tried to save their homes, but they were soon consumed by fire, and by the end of the night, as buildings went up in fire. But even once the buildings, the people, the fields, and the trees were charred, they stayed alight. This fire burned quietly without fuel, but it persisted and burned.
Johannesburg burned, and many of its people lay charred in ashe-covered streets, hugging each other in beds, closets, or underneath the hooves, paws, and claws of beasts that hid with their corpses from their eventual downfall of being trapped inside a burning hut. Out of the inhabitants, maybe thirty survived, five traders and an old man who was found nearly crushed outside of the village. The survivors began to migrate when they found him. They once thought he was delusional, but now they saw that he likely spoke the truth, and they were ashamed at whatever misgivings they gave a maligned god. A small camp was set up in stony soil, it was one of the areas they could reach that night that was not alight with the wildfires that were spreading at random through the grasslands. And that next night, they saw the forest that still burned and raged with a firestorm the likes that had not been seen in likely a hundred years of the planet. Here in these camps, they sent several people back to collect whatever they could and search for food. That, though, was nearly impossible as the fires reached out and protected themselves and the lands before them like a child lashing out, or reaching out for something. The fires created wails as the winds blew past those who stared into what used to be their homeland, now it was home to something else. Within several days, the first orders arrived along with a caravan of soldiers from the nearest kingdom of Ukrye. They saw what was happening, and began to cordon off what was left of the forest and around the still-burning areas of the grasslands.
First, a Seargent at arms, along with several of his soldiers were asked to scout and enter the area, they were padded thick with metals, and damp cloths. They were tasked to search for survivors within the village, should there be any, to find any sign of what was happening. They also sent for both a seer, and for one who uses the wyrd. Those that entered the zone, were gone for days, beyond the sight of the veil of flames, but they did come back, and several short. There were three instead of twenty, and one was not of the party, but of a living girl covered in burns, and for most they would think of her as a charred corpse, if not for the screaming.
Once inside the tents and away from the screaming girl, the two men reported that the forest was still alight as if it had only started to burn. The lake would be one of the safest options for approaching the forest, but they would not have protection from the fire as they would likely have to swim, as wood and anything flammable grew hot and would start to burn without warning or reason. By that time, several orders had arrived, and many others had begun to journey to the firestorm, both to see it, and to begin building a wall to protect from it. It was as if hell had come to earth, and it spread a plague that had only started when it landed for the beasts had began to drive across the plains rapidly, and almost unchecked if it was not for the tribes, the orders, and walls that were built to help contain and control the flow of grazing animals in the south lands. They were a threat, but this was also one, but it could be contained whatever it was until the beasts were dealt with or at least partially dealt with.
The first part of the wall was built in two months; while a deep trench was made, a wall was needed to contain the firestorm, considered the Johannes line, and the first gate Johannesburg after the town that once stood a mile to its west. It was functional, there were three buildings, two to tend to those who get too close to the fiery embrace, and one to store supplies to keep them out of the weather. They were all built of stone, everything had to, or else it would burn; even the seasoned wood was not enough to keep flames from enveloping it. They had learned that the hard way several days into the construction of the trench as a barracks of southern laborers was killed in minutes by a flame that hugged the ground around it. It took three days for the fires to be brought down around the building, and by then all that remained were the flakes of that inside.
Several more excursions were made inside the storm, most of them returning similar to those that came prior; even a seer entered, only to be doused by flames moments later. But those who returned alive said it sounded as if there was a child wailing in pain or from lack of attention. The death cry of so many sounded like a haunting reminder of life and death. It was a dreary thing.
"Marek," Aleksandr said, "the storm's cries are growing louder; could something be coming?"
"I do not know, but whatever it is, I bet it is heading to finish off that girl... do none of the villagers know who she is, have any recognition of her?" Marek had replied, looking back at the younger noble. "One of them has to; it's a small town, maybe once she's calmed down and her voice has had time to rest, someone can tell who she is, or she can tell us her name."
"I don't think anyone could, her screams are filled with agony and pain... I hope the officer's barracks are made soon; my betrothed is coming from the south. As much as I would like to walk several leagues to the wall each morning, I would rather live beside it in stone; that way, I don't have to replace my tent again." Aleksandr finished. "Maybe the mender will be able to help her regain her voice... but right now, I think she won't survive much longer."
From the edges of the fire came a whimper as if someone was out there, crying. It did sound like crying as if someone was far within the depths of the firestorm. The two men stared and took deep breaths.
"I will have someone come up in a minute to replace us and start watching over this part of the line. Right now." Aleksandr said, listening to the wailing; he hated that noise, and it reminded him of a child dying of some illness. He wanted to get to somewhere he couldn't hear it. "Tomorrow, after my wife should be here, and I will head off into the firestorm..."
Marek looked back at him, "it's finally your turn; at least you get to see your wife one last time."
"Oh, I'll survive, just a touch of fire, and I have the family mage coming with me... What could possibly go wrong?"
The next day, Lady Thelis of House Aleksandr arrived with a caravan of fifty armed men, and a young man, maybe the age of twenty, but possibly younger, around his head was a round cage, and through his palms were spikes of lead. His head twitched, and he moved his hands to the cage as the spikes barely touched his head.
"Screaming... all I hear is screaming, want, need... It is like a child born to a dying mother who can't hold up a babe." the psyker dropped to his knees, moving his hands to rip the spikes out of his hands and then begin to scratch and tear for the cage around his head, "Please take it off... Take it off!" the man screamed as he went into shock, his body spasming as he jerked, blood gleaming from his slick hands, and his head stuck in the cage protecting the vital bits.
Two men were atop him, holding him tightly to the ground so he could not hurt anything else, but behind them the fire started to rage and burn. They were trying to keep the mage alive, and trying to keep others around him to stay alive as well, the elder seer who had come had perished in a ball of fire that immolated thirty men who were walking by him when the firestorm last surged.
Aleksandr ran over with a small contingent of men, Marek and several others tailing behind with their own retinues from the hierarchies of different orders that had come to stop the firestorm and whatever was inside. This time, the camp and those around the mage were lucky. The fire on the opposing side of the wall died down for a moment.
"Thelis... I am glad to see you..."
"And I am glad to see you alive; what is on the other side of the wall, a deamon?" the woman asked her husband, "No... I do not know, I was going to set out inside with the magi, but... I will wait for him to be calmed before I enter the fire. It gives me time to see you once again... Marek will look over this, but I wish to show you what I will be walking into. You can see a farmhouse, but that is as far as you can see... It was owned by a man named Tom."
When both of them arrived at the top of the wall, the woman stared at the veil of fire that slowly made it's way towards them, it was watching them, it was alive. Aleksandr did not realize that until his wife was up with him, and he took a deep breath turning towards his right. He stopped in horror at what he saw, the woman's hand was up raised towards the fire as it reached out for her. It touched her, and the fire dissipated entirely from the land and the stream of fire that reached her. The glow was gone to the forest in the distance, and only the early morning sky was alight.
Behind both of them was an old man.
"Go... find the son of our world... for he will bring our world into a new age one day, one that none of us will have ever thought of..." the old prophet said, "Go together... he will reach out for you..." An old clouded eye seemed to turn towards the woman, "But soon, he will need someone to raise him to be a warrior... and he will become one... the warrior our world needs... A king..."
