SepticGentleman — Roleplayer Guild

Karkadin Gatoa

Days prior...

Karkadin walked by the side of his mount and companion, Bruk. Along the rocky walkway formed over the chasm of Rhamdahak, leading up to the shining light of the sun past the grand entrance, marked by pillars carved too from the rock. All was in place - supplies strapped to the beetle's shell, spear on the dorak's back, and of course, the motivation. He'd wanted this, he asked for it, and he was finally getting it. No one was going to stop him.

"Karkadin."

He turned his head. Behind him and approaching was a figure clad in white, with the hood of her robe draped around her neck. Much shorter than him, at just over six feet tall. Short for a dorak at all, really. A stark white hide, four eyes of red, and tendrils reaching down to her abdomen. His vala sister, Phirrah. Come to say something. But what, he wasn't sure. She was always the quiet one of the family.

"[I wasn't expecting you to come and stop me.]" Karkadin replied, in the doraki tongue. He was expecting one final word of reconsideration, to stay and prepare for the role of Grand Patriarch - organizing hunts to keep the problematic creatures from taking over, tending to the breeding of the Ankro Berti, keeping in touch with the people riding atop the Varaka Bertis, meeting with families to answer their requests of service of extermination to secure their homes and avenge their slain... but, no. That's not what he got from her at all. Phirrah approached him and took his right arm, holding the palm upright and staring at it. Karkadin simply stood there, somewhat confused.

"[Many a Grand Patriarch has done something truly heroic.]" She said, "[Many adorned their weapon arms with their greatest tale of their greatest fight. But all were only heroes of the dorak. The rest of Tithe have minds clear of their stories. And... I think I understand now, that you want to change that.]"

Karkadin remained silent as she continued.

"[You've always kept this arm clear. Always waiting for the story that will define you. And I believe we both know, that this will be that story. That's why you really want to leave. To surpass every Grand Patriarch past.]" Phirrah raised her eyes up at him and said, "[Remember everything you see. Everything you do. I want to write it all on this arm when you return.]" She dropped his arm and simply waited for his response. Karkadin paused for a moment before simply nodding in reply and saying, "[I will.]"

Phirrah took the response as it was, and nodded herself. She watched as Karkadin turned and climbed up Bruk's carapace, taking his seat atop his shell, marching forward into the desert.

...

Present day...

The rocks and greenery of Talbor were nothing up close as they looked so far away. The air was cooler and damper than Dorakis by an almost uncomfortable margin. The sun wasn’t shining down on Karkadin’s hide anymore, and there were all these… trees in the way. Bruk had no trouble getting over the boulders and outcroppings with his six strong, armored legs, but on more than one occasion he had to work around a patch of trees reaching up from the ground. Yes, he could have probably barged through them but, it seemed a rather rude gesture. Plus, trees were so very rare in Dorakis that dorak were always taught to respect the ones that they had no charge with. Not that these trees were anything like the ones back home - these were lush, plentiful, and… pointy.

Karkadin kept on his way, following behind a small group of wights. They were unsightly creatures, yes, but paled in comparison to just about everything in Dorakis. Small, frail, terribly slow… but they did have an unappealing stench to them, which Karkadin’s nose responded rather negatively to. He remained somewhat cautious around them, as two were armed, and weapons always meant ill intent, especially when held by… these things. But he wasn’t so cautious as to not entertain his curiosity. Karkadin drew his spear and lowered the sharp-shelled end towards the closest wight’s head, lightly tapping it once, twice, and then a third time… which resulted in the tip running straight into the creature’s skull. Karkadin let out a breath of slight surprise, and instinctively pulled his spear away - with the wight’s skull still on it. The rest of the skeleton fell to the ground in a heap of old bones and rags.

Karkadin held up the spear, staring straight into the empty eye sockets of the skull. It seemed so… lifeless, but slovenly. Slight moaning escaped its rotted teeth, along with the whispered words, “Go… to… Maceron…”

Well, he already was, so the instruction was pointless really. Karkadin’s nose shriveled as he took a whiff of the skull, and respondedly flung it away, over a nearby pile of rocks. He looked for it, but it was out of view now. Oh, well. He turned back to the road ahead, and in a miraculous sense of timing, the city of Maceron came into his sight. So much industry amidst the raw nature, it seemed so… intrusive, to Karkadin. But he wouldn’t pass his judgement until he saw it for its composition, though plagued it may be by the undead. And plagued it was, oh yes. Many more wights, all around, congregating towards the center of the city. He could hear the commotion coming from the ongoing attempted extermination of the abominations. If Karkadin were a less sensible dorak, he might think this all commonplace. But, no, he wouldn’t be here if he were like that.

No sense following the directions of those in front of him anymore. “Bruk!” Karkadin called down to his mount, “Venka!” And in response, the massive beetle picked up his pace, raising his body slightly more upward and dipping his gigantic horn downward to act as a rampart. He charged forth, trampling over the wights with ease, making way for Maceron’s gates. If this were a problem at large, the assistance of an Ankro Bertis wouldn’t go unwanted. At least, that’s what Karkadin hoped. He simply stayed his course, riding into the thick of things, assuming the posted guards wouldn’t take him for a threat. He neared the gates, which were open for some odd reason in the wake of things, and continued forth. Bruk left a trail of crushed bones and tattered rags in his wake, some clinging to the spikes of his legs. But it was a vain effort, as shortly after they met the beetle’s simple wrath, they reformed behind him.

This was going to be a problem. But Karkadin would assist in any way he could. That’s what he came here for, in the end.

Theresa ot an Bol’hjar and Benedict Kaspin

Written with @JunkMail

“Y’know what this reminds me of?”

”Aye?”

“That day we spent clearing out that farmland full of shadowfowl.” Theresa said, as she brought her boot down on the frail neck of a wight, severing the skull from the rest of the skeleton. “Kickin’ the damn things, throwin’ their eggs back at ‘em, watchin’ ‘em explode. Good fun, that.” She then proceeded to toss the skull over a nearby wall of boulders. The wight would have to take a while to reassemble itself as a result. With no bodies of water nearby, the duo had to make due with temporary solutions. They were on the rock-ridden road to Maceron, as no doubt many intrepid danger-seekers were. When undead show up all over Tithe and head to one location, it gets people's’ attention. And Theresa and Benedict, in their inscrutable desire to plunge headlong into such adversity, decided to head the same way. Perhaps the venerable King Draco would offer up a reward for anyone willing to help clear his precious territory of the unsightly abominations. But really, they doubted it. The both of them were originally from Talbor, after all. They understood why it was such a bad place to be.

”I wasn’t with ye for most of that.” The hulking lizard-man at the redheaded swordswoman’s side responded, ”Ye and I cleared out their nest in that cave the next night, remember? Pieces of shit left a stain on me pants.”

“Right.” Theresa said, approaching another stray wight with her sword drawn. “Whole damn thing went up in flames, thanks to you.” As the wight shambled on, Theresa readied her sword and made a single, well-leveled swing at its neck. Not so much owing to her own raw strength or the sword’s sharpness, but the frail bones came so easily undone that the skeleton toppled over while the skull went slightly upwards. Theresa scrambled to catch it before it landed, and continued to speak. “Then we took their eggs and used them for target practice!” She had a bit of a smile on her face as she recalled the event. She tossed the skull to Benedict, who already had his massive foot pressed down on a wight trying to crawl away. He caught it, and saw Theresa draw her little crossbow, and he immediately got the message. He lifted his massive arm and waited for the call.

“Pull!” Theresa said aloud, prompting Benedict to hurl the skull into the air. As the head climbed, Theresa aimed upwards and closed one of her eyes in an attempt to focus. She pulled the trigger, and the bolt flew through the air, piercing the skull and pushing it off-course. It fell onto the surface of another flat-topped boulder and bounced off, falling out of view.

”Ten points!” Ben commented. His face suddenly contorted into a look of surprise and discomfort. He reached across his body and ripped a wight off of his back. He snarled and then manhandled the poor corpse. He crumpled its undead body into a misshapen ball and punted it through a treetop, likely turning the being’s bones and organs to mush. Theresa had a good chuckle at the sight.

”Disgustin’…” Ben snarled, and then spat on the ground in front of him. Theresa put away her crossbow and approached the reptilian behemoth. “I know. Things reek. We’ll be doin’ Maceron a service cleanin’ it of ‘em.” She paused for a moment before continuing with, “Well… I will, at least. Not a good idea for people locked up in their homes to look out an’ see somethin’ like you makin’ a mess. Guards’ll turn on you pretty quick.”

”Just have ‘em help the side that’s winnin’.” Ben replied, shaking his head. He knew she was right. In these times people were driven by fear, and he scared people. Theresa said to him, “Never that simple, Ben. Best to just stay outside the walls, out of view. But, hey, if things get out of hand, then by all means, come chargin’ in.”

”Aye. Town’s bein’ overrun with zombies. What’s yer definition of ‘out of hand’?” Ben asked.

And at that very moment, they passed over the dirty trail onto a simple, convenient overlook - and there ahead was Maceron, wrapped in the panic and retaliation all the thousands of wights had bred call for. The duo turned their heads to their right, seeing something… just as odd. A giant beetle, with a pale figure riding atop it. A dorak, no doubt. Rare in Talbor indeed. And at the sight, Theresa hesitantly said, “That’s out of hand.”

”So yer sayin’ that it’s playtime?”

Theresa didn’t respond. She was visibly distraught some, at the sight of so many wights. More of any monster they’d even encountered before, even the shadowfowl. Ben reached across, and placed one of his massive hands on the better part of her shoulder. He turned her to face him.

”Oi. Just like the shadowfowl, remember?”

Theresa paused momentarily, but nodded and said in reply, “Yeah… just… well, good thing they don’t explode any.” She raised her sword and glared at it for a brief moment before saying, “I’m ready if you are.”

”Always am. ‘Was made ready.” Ben said, patting Theresa on the shoulder as gently as he could. With that, seemed all was in place for the two to charge, once again, headlong into adversity. They made their way down to the city gates, and even though their immediate efforts to exterminate the wights seemed useless, they kept severing their skulls and tossing them as far as they could.

It was such good fun, after all.
SepticGentleman Member

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