Sigma
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Very much WIP
@CypherRahl Oh yes, we've just begun. We'll be happy for you to join in the mess! :P
This once, I will break my One RP rule, I'll be joining :)
Collab between Me and Terminal.
Weshland, Light's Passing Inn
Light's Passing Inn. A seemingly average establishment set up as a unassuming rest spot for any weary travelers, yet...this rundown Inn would play host to a rather odd event, outside the Inn stood two opposing armies, on on end was an conscript army authorized by the Aberysian Oratorium, consisting of local levies provided by House Weshland and members of the Gryph Knightly Order. On the other end were what are now known as the Mountebacks, a rather "altruistic" band of freelance knights so to speak, wondering aimlessly, at least to the locals, engaging in the occasional acts of heroism or simple good deeds to any who are in need.
However, disturbing facts soon arose regarding these Mountebanks, their heretical connections to the Red Parthenon made public, catching the everwatchful eye of the Oratorium. Now here they stand, waiting, as representatives from the the two armies converse within the Inn itself, their actions and words deciding the outcome of this confrontation.
The Inn, once dimly lit, was slowly growing more illuminated and bright as the sun begun to rose, two lone men sitting at a table in the center of the Inn on opposing ends, the Orator Hunter, Gabriel Othun, sat and gave a blank stare to his heretical counterpart.
The so-called Mountebank Knight, who had introduced himself as Pate Calor, had returned his gaze with an equally blank stare, though not in the same sense. The man was of a decidedly sprightly temperament, with an easy smile and soft, rounded cheeks. He sat with a faint slouch and one arm across the inn-table - but as for his eyes, they were dull and terrible things. As though some devil with shears had came and shorn and plucked their depth from them. As those empty vessels met those of Gabriel, he felt stung by their unnatural aspect, a creeping chill streaking down his spine.
"So," Pate began after gracing Gabriel with a brief, cursory examination. "Do you think you brought enough guys?" He broke into a deep, throaty laugh, his eyes remaining locked with Gabriel's own.
Gabriel was silent for a brief moment, still shaken by Pate's unnatural eyes, but was careful not to let such weakness be easily exposed. "I've certainly brought enough to put an end to whatever wicked plots you and your ilk have schemed."
"Wicked plots? My good man, whatever perfidy you expect of us, I do not see what we have done to earn such suspicion. Have you found our conduct in these fair lands wanting?" Pate was still treating Gabriel with a toothy grin, his fingers tapping idly on the table surface. As far as Gabriel could discern the man appeared to be unarmed, though there was no telling if he had managed to conceal a dirk or the like beneath the queer, stone-like armor he bore.
Gabriel was perplexed with such "innocence" on display by this man. "Word spread rather quickly, and we know enough that you serve the vile Red Gods." He paused, taking a small breath. "That, is more then enough to suspect you."
"Is that truly a problem? Aberys coexists quite comfortably with the Dynasty of Eudaz as I understand it. This seemed like such a tolerant and open-minded place. The people are quite intelligent you see, ask many questions, listen intently." The Mountebank's fingers stopped drumming, and the smile faded from their face - becoming somewhat stern. "Though it not be my place to dictate morality, it seems curious that we should earn your animus for performing the necessary acts and protecting the people whom you supposedly watch over. Are you truly here to kill us all to a man for the crime of maintaining your shoddily cobbled peace?"
"Quite frankly, yes, the spread of your heretical nonsense is more of a danger to the land then a mere wild beast or bandit." Gabriel, although maintaining his composure, found this man to be rather irritating, his facade of innocence starting to wear thin in Gabriel's eyes. "Oh? Do tell. What harm have we perpetrated, then?" The Mountebank was smiling again, though it was more grim than before.
"...." Gabriel was to give Pate a response...but, a disturbing thought has crossed his mind, and remained silent, there was some truth to Pate's words, although the Mountebanks were clearly loyal to the enemies of his God, in actuality, they haven't done bodily harm to the subjects of the realms. This alone terrified him.
There was a poignant pause, and Pate laughed darkly. "Alright, alright, I'm not some high-faulting inquisitor!" He held up his hand briefly in a sympathetic gesture. "You want us gone - we'll be gone. Border is not too far, after all, and it would not be right if you did not at least try to stop us. We have done no wrong, but it would be a shame to have what I would presume to be a mostly innocent man like you killed because you did not have the gall to turn your hand to murder. So...I would like you to formally deliver a request for trial by Champion to your host. Win or lose, the Mountebank knights will gladly 'retreat' afterwards." Pate emphatically tilted his head from side to side with his last comment.
Gabriel thought over it...something he shouldn't even do in the first place, he's a member of the Oratorium! For a man in such a position to even consider a heretic's offer would guarantee him a painful death by his fellows. However, his consensus wouldn't allow him to slay a man who clearly displays innocence of any crimes, even if such innocence is but a ruse. But...surely these men would no longer be my' problem to deal with, that would be someone else's problem now, so his own mind said to justify his later response. "...Very well, I accept."
"Splendid! Oh, and of course, I suppose a civilized exchange of gifts is in order-" Pate shrugged one of his broad, armored shoulders and divested a strap from a small satchel just out of view. He sat it on the table, carefully and openly undoing the drawstring before pulling out a single, familiar book. "This was my personal copy of the Golden Biblicon, during my tenure of training to serve the Lord of the Turquoise Scheme. It is a bit worn. Few particularly earmarked passages. I have most of it memorized, so I have little need of it, but perhaps you know someone who might be in need of guidance." Pate pushed the book across the table to Gabriel.
Gabriel slowly extended his hand towards the book, he knew damn well he shouldn't, but he did so anyway. "This could prove useful in combating the turquoise lord..." He thought to himself, once again justifying his weakness. Pate looked to Gabriel expectantly, clearly unconcerned by their hesitance. He took the book, immediately pulled out a dagger, placing it on the table.
Pate flipped it into the air by its handle, briefly inspecting its length before nodding absently and standing. "Send your Champion and two witnesses out in front, we shall do the same. Although we must be enemies in this time, I nonetheless wish good health upon you and your family. I do pray we never meet again, lest the needs of our respective lords might force our hands. Be strong." He then turned and strode out without another word.
Gabriel existed the Inn, approach the host that stood ready on his orders, he turned to a group of knights, pointing his finger at a close-nit trio. "You three, come with me, we're dealing with this problem in a different matter." Much to the three knights confusion, the three nonetheless, followed his orders and accompanied Gabriel for the duel.
Upon Gabriel and his retinue's return to the Light's Passing Inn, two men and a woman stood waiting for them, out by the well and stables to the side of the entrance.
The woman was very clearly dead, missing the lower half of her right arm, with fractured, splintered shards of bone protruding from the gore-stained stump, her whole body bearing a deathly pallor. There was strangely no scent or insects about her person, and her midriff seemed swollen and bloated, but she - or it - was clearly a Servitor of the Turquoise Lord, here to serve witness for the celestial itself presumably. Its expression was blank, both of its eyes milky-white and blind. The two men were both Mountebank Knights - wearing the same, curiously molded stone-like armor he had bore. They both carried strange weapons, pieces seemingly wrought of solid iron forged into foreign shapes.
After a brief moment of silence, one of the two Mountebanks strode forward and spoke. "I am Karnat Ireman, son of Fallon Ireman, Mountebank Knight under the Lord of the Turquoise Scheme, sent forth by my kindred brothers in arms in the role of Champion to stand trial by combat. With the celestials as my witness, I greet you with honor. Which of you shall face me?"
The man, though strangely armored, did not seem the like of a Champion. Indeed, he was thinner and had less bulk to him than the other Knight or Pate had, and his armor was definitely thinner than either of theirs, with fewer plates. His face seemed somewhat on the sallow side, with raggy, dull-blonde hair and the same, stinging, empty eyes.
He appeared unarmed for the moment, though his compatriot notably carried with him a tied bundle of multiple examples of the solid iron weapons.
Gabriel looked to the three knights, picking the largest of them, a well-built men who towered over the Orator. "Baron Atmis, if you please?"
"Gladly" He replied, stepping forward to meet his opponent. I am William Atmis, Knight-Baron of these lands, I shall be your opponent in this duel." Atmis pulled out his blade, and readied his shield, bracing for combat.
Karnat looked William up and down, twice, before giving him a brief moment of consideration. "The Geyser blade, if you please." He called back to his compatriot. The larger man untied the bundle, and handed off to Karnat the presumed weapon.
As with the others, it looked to have been wrought from a single piece of iron. A curved sword, edge on both sides and with a thin, triangular spike protruding from the back of the blade's tip. Its sole ornamentation was the shape of the iron hilt, in the form of cresting waves. The blade was perhaps three and a half arrows in length, and immediately William could tell that the weapon had to outweigh his own by at least three times - and so it was perhaps somewhat disconcerting when Karnat simply accepted the weapon and hefted it with but one hand, leveling it smoothly to point at William.
The Servitor opened its dead lips and spoke. "The Mountebank Knights assent. Act freely upon the first step." William made a slow approach to the mounteback, sword ready in hand as he struck first, thrusting his blade towards his enemy. Karnat's free hand moved fiercely as he shouted a single word of evocation, and the molten, stone-like armor adorning his left arm seemed to flow like a fluid as he reached out and slapped the side of William's blade - the stone flowing between the two and solidifying once more around the weapon. The Mountebank's Geyser Blade raised into the air like a hammer, prised to fall like a Dragon upon a farmstead.
William was overwhelmed in shock and awe as he saw the stone melting and melding around his blade, the sheer weight of it was too much for him to bare and dropped it. William had almost lost his life, were it not his quick reaction to the mounteback's counterattack, and countered with his shield. He had barely escaped death.
Barely, and it looked to be nigh upon his heels - the Mountebank, seeming to have expected William's counter with his shield, allowed his blade to hammer down on and bounce up - whereupon he twisted his wrist, flipping the blade so that the thin spike upon its head was facing inward of William's face, slammed the weapon down atop the shield once more, and slashed to the left in an effort to take out the Baron's eyes.
In that instant, the spikes of the blade had pierced the Baron's eyes, dropping his shield, grasping his face as he screamed out in pain, blood creeping down his face. William felt a weight in his midriff as the Mountebank kicked him firmly in the gut, sending him tumbling to the ground. Karnat looked grimly up at Gabriel and the remaining two knights. "Your compatriot has been incapacitated. Which of you is his second?" The Servitor, standing idly by, had started laughing hoarsely.
The remaining two knights were hesitant, and refused to step forward, despite the overwhelming rage they had felt seeing their comrade in the state he is in, there was little that could be done..if only Princess Rosella was here...
Karnat raised an eyebrow at them. "Are you truly to leave him to fight me in his current state?"
"Damn it all, do we need to say it?" Gabirel snapped. "We yield!"
Karnat stared with his terrible eyes at Gabriel. "They will kill all three of you if you return and claim you yielded. Him as well." He gestured with the tip of his blade to the crying and bleeding Baron on the ground. "Somebody must die today. Let us not add to the count."
The three stood in silence, they knew what must be done. "Do it." Gabriel said with a heavy heart. "And then I want you to leave these lands, never to return, or we will not be so merciful." The Mountebank scoffed. "You honestly expect me to strike down a defenseless man? Come you craven curs! You are supposed to be sworn knights of avowal! You shame your comrade and your god with your words and brazen cowardice! I will fight two of you at once if that is what it takes for you to discover your courage!" In the background, the Servitor's laughter rose ever-higher.
The two remaining knights gladly obliged as they pulled out their swords, the Orator willingly joining, drawing his own blade. "Very well, if you wish to die, then so be it you filthy heretic." Gabriel spoke. Karnat smiled and held up a hand. "No. Only two. One of you must live." His fellow behind him burst into uproarious laughter, the heavy sound intermingling with the Servitor's.
"Orator, stand aside, we will avenge the Baron." One of the knights spoke, a young woman.
"We'll cut down this bastard." The other said, an older man.
The two knights charged, splitting off as the made their first move, attacking at two different points on both of his sides. As the two knights split off, Karnat uttered a single word of command, and a nearly indiscernible, pulsating wave of force rippling through the air, passing by both knights without harm. Nodding almost imperceptibly as he confirmed that neither of the knights had any wards of other forms of magical protection, Karnat raised his Geyser blade, catching the older man's own blade on the reverse side by the iron weapon's thin spike. Without even looking at the woman, he extended his free arm back, fingers undulated as the Mountebank uttered another word of command, this time releasing a tumultuous, conical shockwave of force that barreled at her.
The woman had lost her balance, but manage too throw force herself out of the way of the shockwave, rolling out. Although she was without a sword, for now, she quickly drew her dagger and made another attempt to strike at her opponent. The older man doing the same as he dropped the sword and pulled out his dagger.
The Mountebank deftly tucked his free arm in and shoved, aiming his stone-armored elbow at the woman's face before coming around with a sweeping strike at the older man, trying to catch him with the Geyser blade's reverse side and the faintly-extended reach of the spike at its head.
The Knight took notice of this, backed off, making use of his limited paladin training as he conjured strains of lighting from his finger tips. Meanwhile, the other knight, the woman was thrown off, barely conscious from the counter strike, blood dripping from her now broken nose.
The Mountebank briefly glanced behind himself to look at the woman and check she was not about to attempt another strike, and in that brief turn of his head completely missed the old man's brief preparation for his spell. Karnat turned his gaze back to the old knight just as the streamers of lightning struck, dancing across body. The stone that served as his armor thankfully proved to be particularly resilient to the arcs of light, but as his armor had fewer plates than those of the other Mountebanks the voltaic magic nonetheless crackled across his flesh in several places, burning the flesh beneath. The Mountebank's lower left arm in particular was severely burnt, as he had disposed of a plate of his stone armor with the first spell he had cast against the Baron. The individual fingers on his hand smoldered, the skin melting and blackening into a mess of visceral charnel fused together in an unusable mess.
In full-on shock, Karnat dropped his Geyser blade and let out a pained roar of anguish. "Do you yield?" Wilfred, the Knight, spoke, panting from the fight. Karnat took a moment to suck in a breath of air before turning his head back up with wide, empty eyes and a mouth contorted in pain. He raised his right hand. "I can still fight." The fingers of his right hand bent inward as he barked out a preliminary word of command for a more complex spell. "Justinian preserve us..." He said.
In the few breaths he took to speak those words, the Mountebank finished his spell. The earth itself beneath Wilfred's feet parted as the ground beneath him fell and the stone about him rose, the world itself trying to devour him whole.
Without much time to think this through, Wilfred made a blind run for it, trying to escape this trap, but with every step he took, the ground was becoming more and more loose and unstable, it was a matter of time before he would be encircled by the Earth itseld, in sheer desperation, Wilfred blindly fired off another lighting strike from his hand.
The lightning strike grounded into the Earth, but created a fulgur of glass in the shifting ground that resisted the effects of the Mountebank's spell and created a flaw in it, opening a passage of escape from the imploding would-be tomb. Wilfred took this chance, and fled out of the trap before he would lose that opening, along with his life. Behind him the earth receded before flattening out, leaving no evidence of the disturbance save for the uniform, circular absence of vegetation and its own unnatural smoothness. Standing directly before Wilfred, Karnat had retrieved his Geyser blade and was stalking over, cradling his left arm beneath his body.
"Your condition worsens, yield now and we can both leave alive."
"Do you know what the battlecry of the Mountebank is?" Karnat posed the question almost conversationally as he took a longer, near-leap of a step towards Wilfred with a looming overhead strike. His voice was strained with pain, but clear.
Wilfred was prepared to distance himself from the wounded knight, but humored him. "I'm afraid I do not." As he made the strike, he threw himself away from the blade.
As Wilfred threw himself away, he noted that the Mountebank had flipped the blade in his hand again in a near-reflexive manner after it hit the ground in a disturbingly similar fashion to what he had done during his brief fight with the Baron. If Wilfred had dodge to either side as opposed to back, Karnat might well have then immediately slashed him with the tip of the blade's spike.
"Slay me thrice." Karnat answered. "I would worry more about your own wellness, my adversary."
The Mountebank then charged forward with a diagonal strike from Wilfred's left. He noted that Karnat's good arm seemed peculiarly tensed. "If you say so." Wilfred said as he dodged once more, and once again had shot out a bolt of lighting directed at the other arm, perhaps disarming him will finally put an end to this battle.
The tension in the Mountebank's arm was released as he carried through with his charge, the blade's trajectory abruptly changing and cutting to Wilfred's right in a curious semicircular sweep. His lightning arced across the blade's length. Karnat immediate dropped it, his hand shaking from its the momentary residual charge that had rushed through the whole-iron weapon into his arm. Unfortunately that was hardly the end of it. Even as his arm still shuddered, Karnat tucked it in and carried forward in order to body-slam Wilfred.
Growing more tired, Wilfred simply clutched his armed together as he braced himself. The sheer weight from Karnats armor was enough to send both Wilfred and Kanrat crashing onto the ground. Looking up to find Wilfred again, Karnat raised his good hand once more, fingers bending as he uttered a word of command in order to create another conical shockwave directed at the older knight.
This was over for Wilfred, his strength was fleeting, and he could no longer run from this attack this time. However, salvation would come for the knight, in the battle, Karnat has failed to pay much attention to the younger knight, Elmia. In the final moments of the confrontation, Elmia, barely conscious, picked up the dagger, and quickly charged for Karnat's back. Just as Karnat began to stand again, drawing breath in order to laugh over the fallen Wilfred's battered body, her dagger slid between the plates of his stone armor, penetrating his ribs and sliding neatly through the upper mound of his heart.
Karnat fell again to his knees, his strength quickly fleeing him. "Slay me...thrice..." He whispered. His eyes turned milky white, and abruptly, just as quickly as he had fallen to his knees, he was getting up on both feet again. The ground ceased to tremor, much to Wilfred's relief. Elmia however was staring in awe as Karnat stood back up, the state he is currently in would no doubt debilitate any man.
"Oh, little motes, how rudely you treat this rind." Karnat's voice drifts eerily through the air, undulating in a dissonant, sing-song manner, with a foreign pitch and timbre. He then casually strode forward and raised a foot to stomp on Wilfred's face, apparently completely oblivious to Elmia's presence.
"How is this even possible?" Gabriel spoke.
Wilfred, abruptly raising himself up as Karnat stepped upon his face, bloodied and angry. "You unnatural bastard!" He shouted out. "Nothing so natural as form my dear, nothing so natural as wit." The Mountebank's body uttered in its new sing-song voice as it vaguely waved its right hand, sending the stone armor around its leg to flow and seal itself around Wilfred's head. The walking corpse then turned around to face Elmia. "There you are." It said, all color gone from its face.
The expression of the corpse sent chills down Elmia's spin, all she could do was shuffle away from the creature. All the while, Wilfred let out panicked screams as the stone begun to envelope his head. All Gabriel could do was look in horror.
The walking corpse gestured again, and all sensation fled Elmia as the previously dropped Geyser sword levitated and flew through the air, neatly slicing beneath her legs and disemboweling her as it flew into the dead man's hand. "And that one gets to live." The Mountebank's body exclaimed as it walked past William's still body, gore from Elmia's gut dribbling over him as the thing shook the Geyser blade in passing. He had, thankfully, fallen unconscious from the pain and blood-loss. "And you-" The body's voice dropped to a whisper as it approached Gabriel. "Will tell all what has transpired here."
Gabriel was paralyzed in fear, this was the power of the Turquoise Lord? Truly frightening. Not a word could be uttered, he simply made a nod. "And as was promised, we shall now leave. We do have a promise to keep. Of course, it shall be the border of Lytton we cross. It is also nearby." The thing's dead face twisted and gave Gabriel a sickening smile. "Mortal knights may grant you mercy, as is their way. The dead shall not, little mote. Be sure to remember that."
It turned and walked away without another word. The second Mountebank had tied the bundle of weapons back together, and he and the Servitor followed the reanimated thing as it went. As the trio left, Gabriel looked between the Servitor and the clearly very dead Mountebank.
Though often the topic of sick jokes and rumor, all educated members of the Oratory knew that the Servitors of the Turquoise Lord were all women, but it was the only possibility. The Mountebank had died - and its body had been reanimated as a male Servitor.
And if its words were to be believed-
Every Mountebank could potentially rise from death to fight anew.
"A truly terrifying enemy.....even if we fought them here and now..." The realization sunk even deeper. "No...this can not be left alone. What was I thinking?!" Gabriel took the book and tossed it to the ground. "I must return to Lorimir, they must be stopped at any cost!" As he turned and ran, the dirt from his hasty egress was thrown across Pate's copy of the Golden Biblicon, now stained and dirty on the ground.
Weshland, Light's Passing Inn
Light's Passing Inn. A seemingly average establishment set up as a unassuming rest spot for any weary travelers, yet...this rundown Inn would play host to a rather odd event, outside the Inn stood two opposing armies, on on end was an conscript army authorized by the Aberysian Oratorium, consisting of local levies provided by House Weshland and members of the Gryph Knightly Order. On the other end were what are now known as the Mountebacks, a rather "altruistic" band of freelance knights so to speak, wondering aimlessly, at least to the locals, engaging in the occasional acts of heroism or simple good deeds to any who are in need.
However, disturbing facts soon arose regarding these Mountebanks, their heretical connections to the Red Parthenon made public, catching the everwatchful eye of the Oratorium. Now here they stand, waiting, as representatives from the the two armies converse within the Inn itself, their actions and words deciding the outcome of this confrontation.
The Inn, once dimly lit, was slowly growing more illuminated and bright as the sun begun to rose, two lone men sitting at a table in the center of the Inn on opposing ends, the Orator Hunter, Gabriel Othun, sat and gave a blank stare to his heretical counterpart.
The so-called Mountebank Knight, who had introduced himself as Pate Calor, had returned his gaze with an equally blank stare, though not in the same sense. The man was of a decidedly sprightly temperament, with an easy smile and soft, rounded cheeks. He sat with a faint slouch and one arm across the inn-table - but as for his eyes, they were dull and terrible things. As though some devil with shears had came and shorn and plucked their depth from them. As those empty vessels met those of Gabriel, he felt stung by their unnatural aspect, a creeping chill streaking down his spine.
"So," Pate began after gracing Gabriel with a brief, cursory examination. "Do you think you brought enough guys?" He broke into a deep, throaty laugh, his eyes remaining locked with Gabriel's own.
Gabriel was silent for a brief moment, still shaken by Pate's unnatural eyes, but was careful not to let such weakness be easily exposed. "I've certainly brought enough to put an end to whatever wicked plots you and your ilk have schemed."
"Wicked plots? My good man, whatever perfidy you expect of us, I do not see what we have done to earn such suspicion. Have you found our conduct in these fair lands wanting?" Pate was still treating Gabriel with a toothy grin, his fingers tapping idly on the table surface. As far as Gabriel could discern the man appeared to be unarmed, though there was no telling if he had managed to conceal a dirk or the like beneath the queer, stone-like armor he bore.
Gabriel was perplexed with such "innocence" on display by this man. "Word spread rather quickly, and we know enough that you serve the vile Red Gods." He paused, taking a small breath. "That, is more then enough to suspect you."
"Is that truly a problem? Aberys coexists quite comfortably with the Dynasty of Eudaz as I understand it. This seemed like such a tolerant and open-minded place. The people are quite intelligent you see, ask many questions, listen intently." The Mountebank's fingers stopped drumming, and the smile faded from their face - becoming somewhat stern. "Though it not be my place to dictate morality, it seems curious that we should earn your animus for performing the necessary acts and protecting the people whom you supposedly watch over. Are you truly here to kill us all to a man for the crime of maintaining your shoddily cobbled peace?"
"Quite frankly, yes, the spread of your heretical nonsense is more of a danger to the land then a mere wild beast or bandit." Gabriel, although maintaining his composure, found this man to be rather irritating, his facade of innocence starting to wear thin in Gabriel's eyes. "Oh? Do tell. What harm have we perpetrated, then?" The Mountebank was smiling again, though it was more grim than before.
"...." Gabriel was to give Pate a response...but, a disturbing thought has crossed his mind, and remained silent, there was some truth to Pate's words, although the Mountebanks were clearly loyal to the enemies of his God, in actuality, they haven't done bodily harm to the subjects of the realms. This alone terrified him.
There was a poignant pause, and Pate laughed darkly. "Alright, alright, I'm not some high-faulting inquisitor!" He held up his hand briefly in a sympathetic gesture. "You want us gone - we'll be gone. Border is not too far, after all, and it would not be right if you did not at least try to stop us. We have done no wrong, but it would be a shame to have what I would presume to be a mostly innocent man like you killed because you did not have the gall to turn your hand to murder. So...I would like you to formally deliver a request for trial by Champion to your host. Win or lose, the Mountebank knights will gladly 'retreat' afterwards." Pate emphatically tilted his head from side to side with his last comment.
Gabriel thought over it...something he shouldn't even do in the first place, he's a member of the Oratorium! For a man in such a position to even consider a heretic's offer would guarantee him a painful death by his fellows. However, his consensus wouldn't allow him to slay a man who clearly displays innocence of any crimes, even if such innocence is but a ruse. But...surely these men would no longer be my' problem to deal with, that would be someone else's problem now, so his own mind said to justify his later response. "...Very well, I accept."
"Splendid! Oh, and of course, I suppose a civilized exchange of gifts is in order-" Pate shrugged one of his broad, armored shoulders and divested a strap from a small satchel just out of view. He sat it on the table, carefully and openly undoing the drawstring before pulling out a single, familiar book. "This was my personal copy of the Golden Biblicon, during my tenure of training to serve the Lord of the Turquoise Scheme. It is a bit worn. Few particularly earmarked passages. I have most of it memorized, so I have little need of it, but perhaps you know someone who might be in need of guidance." Pate pushed the book across the table to Gabriel.
Gabriel slowly extended his hand towards the book, he knew damn well he shouldn't, but he did so anyway. "This could prove useful in combating the turquoise lord..." He thought to himself, once again justifying his weakness. Pate looked to Gabriel expectantly, clearly unconcerned by their hesitance. He took the book, immediately pulled out a dagger, placing it on the table.
Pate flipped it into the air by its handle, briefly inspecting its length before nodding absently and standing. "Send your Champion and two witnesses out in front, we shall do the same. Although we must be enemies in this time, I nonetheless wish good health upon you and your family. I do pray we never meet again, lest the needs of our respective lords might force our hands. Be strong." He then turned and strode out without another word.
Gabriel existed the Inn, approach the host that stood ready on his orders, he turned to a group of knights, pointing his finger at a close-nit trio. "You three, come with me, we're dealing with this problem in a different matter." Much to the three knights confusion, the three nonetheless, followed his orders and accompanied Gabriel for the duel.
Upon Gabriel and his retinue's return to the Light's Passing Inn, two men and a woman stood waiting for them, out by the well and stables to the side of the entrance.
The woman was very clearly dead, missing the lower half of her right arm, with fractured, splintered shards of bone protruding from the gore-stained stump, her whole body bearing a deathly pallor. There was strangely no scent or insects about her person, and her midriff seemed swollen and bloated, but she - or it - was clearly a Servitor of the Turquoise Lord, here to serve witness for the celestial itself presumably. Its expression was blank, both of its eyes milky-white and blind. The two men were both Mountebank Knights - wearing the same, curiously molded stone-like armor he had bore. They both carried strange weapons, pieces seemingly wrought of solid iron forged into foreign shapes.
After a brief moment of silence, one of the two Mountebanks strode forward and spoke. "I am Karnat Ireman, son of Fallon Ireman, Mountebank Knight under the Lord of the Turquoise Scheme, sent forth by my kindred brothers in arms in the role of Champion to stand trial by combat. With the celestials as my witness, I greet you with honor. Which of you shall face me?"
The man, though strangely armored, did not seem the like of a Champion. Indeed, he was thinner and had less bulk to him than the other Knight or Pate had, and his armor was definitely thinner than either of theirs, with fewer plates. His face seemed somewhat on the sallow side, with raggy, dull-blonde hair and the same, stinging, empty eyes.
He appeared unarmed for the moment, though his compatriot notably carried with him a tied bundle of multiple examples of the solid iron weapons.
Gabriel looked to the three knights, picking the largest of them, a well-built men who towered over the Orator. "Baron Atmis, if you please?"
"Gladly" He replied, stepping forward to meet his opponent. I am William Atmis, Knight-Baron of these lands, I shall be your opponent in this duel." Atmis pulled out his blade, and readied his shield, bracing for combat.
Karnat looked William up and down, twice, before giving him a brief moment of consideration. "The Geyser blade, if you please." He called back to his compatriot. The larger man untied the bundle, and handed off to Karnat the presumed weapon.
As with the others, it looked to have been wrought from a single piece of iron. A curved sword, edge on both sides and with a thin, triangular spike protruding from the back of the blade's tip. Its sole ornamentation was the shape of the iron hilt, in the form of cresting waves. The blade was perhaps three and a half arrows in length, and immediately William could tell that the weapon had to outweigh his own by at least three times - and so it was perhaps somewhat disconcerting when Karnat simply accepted the weapon and hefted it with but one hand, leveling it smoothly to point at William.
The Servitor opened its dead lips and spoke. "The Mountebank Knights assent. Act freely upon the first step." William made a slow approach to the mounteback, sword ready in hand as he struck first, thrusting his blade towards his enemy. Karnat's free hand moved fiercely as he shouted a single word of evocation, and the molten, stone-like armor adorning his left arm seemed to flow like a fluid as he reached out and slapped the side of William's blade - the stone flowing between the two and solidifying once more around the weapon. The Mountebank's Geyser Blade raised into the air like a hammer, prised to fall like a Dragon upon a farmstead.
William was overwhelmed in shock and awe as he saw the stone melting and melding around his blade, the sheer weight of it was too much for him to bare and dropped it. William had almost lost his life, were it not his quick reaction to the mounteback's counterattack, and countered with his shield. He had barely escaped death.
Barely, and it looked to be nigh upon his heels - the Mountebank, seeming to have expected William's counter with his shield, allowed his blade to hammer down on and bounce up - whereupon he twisted his wrist, flipping the blade so that the thin spike upon its head was facing inward of William's face, slammed the weapon down atop the shield once more, and slashed to the left in an effort to take out the Baron's eyes.
In that instant, the spikes of the blade had pierced the Baron's eyes, dropping his shield, grasping his face as he screamed out in pain, blood creeping down his face. William felt a weight in his midriff as the Mountebank kicked him firmly in the gut, sending him tumbling to the ground. Karnat looked grimly up at Gabriel and the remaining two knights. "Your compatriot has been incapacitated. Which of you is his second?" The Servitor, standing idly by, had started laughing hoarsely.
The remaining two knights were hesitant, and refused to step forward, despite the overwhelming rage they had felt seeing their comrade in the state he is in, there was little that could be done..if only Princess Rosella was here...
Karnat raised an eyebrow at them. "Are you truly to leave him to fight me in his current state?"
"Damn it all, do we need to say it?" Gabirel snapped. "We yield!"
Karnat stared with his terrible eyes at Gabriel. "They will kill all three of you if you return and claim you yielded. Him as well." He gestured with the tip of his blade to the crying and bleeding Baron on the ground. "Somebody must die today. Let us not add to the count."
The three stood in silence, they knew what must be done. "Do it." Gabriel said with a heavy heart. "And then I want you to leave these lands, never to return, or we will not be so merciful." The Mountebank scoffed. "You honestly expect me to strike down a defenseless man? Come you craven curs! You are supposed to be sworn knights of avowal! You shame your comrade and your god with your words and brazen cowardice! I will fight two of you at once if that is what it takes for you to discover your courage!" In the background, the Servitor's laughter rose ever-higher.
The two remaining knights gladly obliged as they pulled out their swords, the Orator willingly joining, drawing his own blade. "Very well, if you wish to die, then so be it you filthy heretic." Gabriel spoke. Karnat smiled and held up a hand. "No. Only two. One of you must live." His fellow behind him burst into uproarious laughter, the heavy sound intermingling with the Servitor's.
"Orator, stand aside, we will avenge the Baron." One of the knights spoke, a young woman.
"We'll cut down this bastard." The other said, an older man.
The two knights charged, splitting off as the made their first move, attacking at two different points on both of his sides. As the two knights split off, Karnat uttered a single word of command, and a nearly indiscernible, pulsating wave of force rippling through the air, passing by both knights without harm. Nodding almost imperceptibly as he confirmed that neither of the knights had any wards of other forms of magical protection, Karnat raised his Geyser blade, catching the older man's own blade on the reverse side by the iron weapon's thin spike. Without even looking at the woman, he extended his free arm back, fingers undulated as the Mountebank uttered another word of command, this time releasing a tumultuous, conical shockwave of force that barreled at her.
The woman had lost her balance, but manage too throw force herself out of the way of the shockwave, rolling out. Although she was without a sword, for now, she quickly drew her dagger and made another attempt to strike at her opponent. The older man doing the same as he dropped the sword and pulled out his dagger.
The Mountebank deftly tucked his free arm in and shoved, aiming his stone-armored elbow at the woman's face before coming around with a sweeping strike at the older man, trying to catch him with the Geyser blade's reverse side and the faintly-extended reach of the spike at its head.
The Knight took notice of this, backed off, making use of his limited paladin training as he conjured strains of lighting from his finger tips. Meanwhile, the other knight, the woman was thrown off, barely conscious from the counter strike, blood dripping from her now broken nose.
The Mountebank briefly glanced behind himself to look at the woman and check she was not about to attempt another strike, and in that brief turn of his head completely missed the old man's brief preparation for his spell. Karnat turned his gaze back to the old knight just as the streamers of lightning struck, dancing across body. The stone that served as his armor thankfully proved to be particularly resilient to the arcs of light, but as his armor had fewer plates than those of the other Mountebanks the voltaic magic nonetheless crackled across his flesh in several places, burning the flesh beneath. The Mountebank's lower left arm in particular was severely burnt, as he had disposed of a plate of his stone armor with the first spell he had cast against the Baron. The individual fingers on his hand smoldered, the skin melting and blackening into a mess of visceral charnel fused together in an unusable mess.
In full-on shock, Karnat dropped his Geyser blade and let out a pained roar of anguish. "Do you yield?" Wilfred, the Knight, spoke, panting from the fight. Karnat took a moment to suck in a breath of air before turning his head back up with wide, empty eyes and a mouth contorted in pain. He raised his right hand. "I can still fight." The fingers of his right hand bent inward as he barked out a preliminary word of command for a more complex spell. "Justinian preserve us..." He said.
In the few breaths he took to speak those words, the Mountebank finished his spell. The earth itself beneath Wilfred's feet parted as the ground beneath him fell and the stone about him rose, the world itself trying to devour him whole.
Without much time to think this through, Wilfred made a blind run for it, trying to escape this trap, but with every step he took, the ground was becoming more and more loose and unstable, it was a matter of time before he would be encircled by the Earth itseld, in sheer desperation, Wilfred blindly fired off another lighting strike from his hand.
The lightning strike grounded into the Earth, but created a fulgur of glass in the shifting ground that resisted the effects of the Mountebank's spell and created a flaw in it, opening a passage of escape from the imploding would-be tomb. Wilfred took this chance, and fled out of the trap before he would lose that opening, along with his life. Behind him the earth receded before flattening out, leaving no evidence of the disturbance save for the uniform, circular absence of vegetation and its own unnatural smoothness. Standing directly before Wilfred, Karnat had retrieved his Geyser blade and was stalking over, cradling his left arm beneath his body.
"Your condition worsens, yield now and we can both leave alive."
"Do you know what the battlecry of the Mountebank is?" Karnat posed the question almost conversationally as he took a longer, near-leap of a step towards Wilfred with a looming overhead strike. His voice was strained with pain, but clear.
Wilfred was prepared to distance himself from the wounded knight, but humored him. "I'm afraid I do not." As he made the strike, he threw himself away from the blade.
As Wilfred threw himself away, he noted that the Mountebank had flipped the blade in his hand again in a near-reflexive manner after it hit the ground in a disturbingly similar fashion to what he had done during his brief fight with the Baron. If Wilfred had dodge to either side as opposed to back, Karnat might well have then immediately slashed him with the tip of the blade's spike.
"Slay me thrice." Karnat answered. "I would worry more about your own wellness, my adversary."
The Mountebank then charged forward with a diagonal strike from Wilfred's left. He noted that Karnat's good arm seemed peculiarly tensed. "If you say so." Wilfred said as he dodged once more, and once again had shot out a bolt of lighting directed at the other arm, perhaps disarming him will finally put an end to this battle.
The tension in the Mountebank's arm was released as he carried through with his charge, the blade's trajectory abruptly changing and cutting to Wilfred's right in a curious semicircular sweep. His lightning arced across the blade's length. Karnat immediate dropped it, his hand shaking from its the momentary residual charge that had rushed through the whole-iron weapon into his arm. Unfortunately that was hardly the end of it. Even as his arm still shuddered, Karnat tucked it in and carried forward in order to body-slam Wilfred.
Growing more tired, Wilfred simply clutched his armed together as he braced himself. The sheer weight from Karnats armor was enough to send both Wilfred and Kanrat crashing onto the ground. Looking up to find Wilfred again, Karnat raised his good hand once more, fingers bending as he uttered a word of command in order to create another conical shockwave directed at the older knight.
This was over for Wilfred, his strength was fleeting, and he could no longer run from this attack this time. However, salvation would come for the knight, in the battle, Karnat has failed to pay much attention to the younger knight, Elmia. In the final moments of the confrontation, Elmia, barely conscious, picked up the dagger, and quickly charged for Karnat's back. Just as Karnat began to stand again, drawing breath in order to laugh over the fallen Wilfred's battered body, her dagger slid between the plates of his stone armor, penetrating his ribs and sliding neatly through the upper mound of his heart.
Karnat fell again to his knees, his strength quickly fleeing him. "Slay me...thrice..." He whispered. His eyes turned milky white, and abruptly, just as quickly as he had fallen to his knees, he was getting up on both feet again. The ground ceased to tremor, much to Wilfred's relief. Elmia however was staring in awe as Karnat stood back up, the state he is currently in would no doubt debilitate any man.
"Oh, little motes, how rudely you treat this rind." Karnat's voice drifts eerily through the air, undulating in a dissonant, sing-song manner, with a foreign pitch and timbre. He then casually strode forward and raised a foot to stomp on Wilfred's face, apparently completely oblivious to Elmia's presence.
"How is this even possible?" Gabriel spoke.
Wilfred, abruptly raising himself up as Karnat stepped upon his face, bloodied and angry. "You unnatural bastard!" He shouted out. "Nothing so natural as form my dear, nothing so natural as wit." The Mountebank's body uttered in its new sing-song voice as it vaguely waved its right hand, sending the stone armor around its leg to flow and seal itself around Wilfred's head. The walking corpse then turned around to face Elmia. "There you are." It said, all color gone from its face.
The expression of the corpse sent chills down Elmia's spin, all she could do was shuffle away from the creature. All the while, Wilfred let out panicked screams as the stone begun to envelope his head. All Gabriel could do was look in horror.
The walking corpse gestured again, and all sensation fled Elmia as the previously dropped Geyser sword levitated and flew through the air, neatly slicing beneath her legs and disemboweling her as it flew into the dead man's hand. "And that one gets to live." The Mountebank's body exclaimed as it walked past William's still body, gore from Elmia's gut dribbling over him as the thing shook the Geyser blade in passing. He had, thankfully, fallen unconscious from the pain and blood-loss. "And you-" The body's voice dropped to a whisper as it approached Gabriel. "Will tell all what has transpired here."
Gabriel was paralyzed in fear, this was the power of the Turquoise Lord? Truly frightening. Not a word could be uttered, he simply made a nod. "And as was promised, we shall now leave. We do have a promise to keep. Of course, it shall be the border of Lytton we cross. It is also nearby." The thing's dead face twisted and gave Gabriel a sickening smile. "Mortal knights may grant you mercy, as is their way. The dead shall not, little mote. Be sure to remember that."
It turned and walked away without another word. The second Mountebank had tied the bundle of weapons back together, and he and the Servitor followed the reanimated thing as it went. As the trio left, Gabriel looked between the Servitor and the clearly very dead Mountebank.
Though often the topic of sick jokes and rumor, all educated members of the Oratory knew that the Servitors of the Turquoise Lord were all women, but it was the only possibility. The Mountebank had died - and its body had been reanimated as a male Servitor.
And if its words were to be believed-
Every Mountebank could potentially rise from death to fight anew.
"A truly terrifying enemy.....even if we fought them here and now..." The realization sunk even deeper. "No...this can not be left alone. What was I thinking?!" Gabriel took the book and tossed it to the ground. "I must return to Lorimir, they must be stopped at any cost!" As he turned and ran, the dirt from his hasty egress was thrown across Pate's copy of the Golden Biblicon, now stained and dirty on the ground.
I'm ashamed to report that I have done zero work on my latest post :P
I have the concept in my head, just need the drive to type it up and post.
I have the concept in my head, just need the drive to type it up and post.
Fantastic update I'd say :)
Also @Grijs. May want to update the OP a bit, we're in need of more red pantheonists to counter the good number of justinians and Yuwanists.
Also @Grijs. May want to update the OP a bit, we're in need of more red pantheonists to counter the good number of justinians and Yuwanists.
Going to soon attempt at another post. Gotta get My guys over to the Ouro frontlines :)
Collab between Gold and Sigma.
Aberys-Ouroborasia Border
Town of Gryke
Gryke, one of countless examples of the dreary and mucky atmosphere in Ouroborasia, a stark contrast to their northern neighbors, the Aberysian Principalities. The townspeople of Gryke went about their daily business, trying to survive in their new and harsh reality...but, even in these dark times, a ray of light always finds it's way into the endless darkness, as children run and play amidst in the misery, splashing the puddles forming in pitted sections of the eroding down streets, a charming, if temporary distraction for a few. But that ray of light would shine even brighter today.
Almost without warning, mostly due to the more hushed reactions, crowds begun to form along the side of the town's streets as armed soldiers begun to march through the wet street, their sudden arrival met with curiosity and enthusiasm, taking notice that these men were not marching under the Imperial banner, no, but of the House of Weshland, another wave of reinforcements from Aberys had finally arrived to aid the Rightful Emperor in the fight against the Eastern Witches. Children put a stop to their games as they looked in awe of the arriving soldiers, at the forefront of the soldiers were a trio mounted on horseback, a lovely, if deadly-looking woman at the front, and flanking her were members of the Gryph Knights. The young woman's features was quite distinguishable for the townspeople, her locks as bright as the rising sun, skin so fair and smooth, and an aura of elegance and authority filling the very air.
The townspeople continued to stare in awe, one even yelling a stout, "give 'em hell!" As the woman and her troops made way for the town center, she and her knight escort rushed ahead as their steeds sped up, the Town Elder being quick to act as he and his entourage gathered to meet the trio. As they climbed down from the backs of their horses, the soldiers behind continuing their march until they too reached the center. "Company halt!" A grizzled voice cried out as the soldiers froze and stood at attention.
The Town Elder was a middle aged man of salt and pepper, the previous having passed due to illness just weeks ago, but at a ripe age. He wore a worn look on his face along side the ever present tattoo of a Ouroborasian veteran on his left cheek.
"We have no more lads to give," he started, voice ironically dry, "the Citizen's Militia marched through just two days ago and took our eager. We have only the weak, old and unfit."
The Young woman chuckled, followed by a friendly grin, the elder mistaking her intentions. "Fear not, citizen." She begun. "We've not come for your men and boys." She paused." But first, introductions are in order. I am Rosella Weshland, Princess of the Weshland Principality and Chosen Champion of Justinian, by order of the Rightfully Elected King and the Round Council, I and my fellow weshlanders have come to lend aid."
"If it's aid you wish to give, then who am I to doubt someone sent by Justinian himself," The elder nodded, trying to match the woman's smile, "I am the town elder, elected by the people. You may call me Bujar."
"A pleasure." She said. "Elder Bujar, I came here to both offer and to request." She first took a deep breath. "The trek to the frontlines will be long and perilous, and we've come as far as the eye can see, my forces require a place of rest." She turned around, waving her hand as if giving a signal, a few men nodded back as they broke formation and disappeared among the ranks of their fellows. Moments later, several large grey beasts, the Umuro, emerged from the masses, hauling large carts filled with food supplies.
"I know much will be asked of your town to tolerate our temporary stay." She said, her tone sympathetic. "So, in return, we offer your town a share of our supplies, I'm sure these dire times makes one suffer from hunger."
"With so many gone, we have room to spare," Bujar agreed. "You may very well stay in exchange for food, but I'm no stranger to war or marches," the elder eyed the soldiers behind Rosella, "I know what kinds of hunger men of war gather and we will have none of it here. There will be no scenes made, and no women or children harassed. We may be weak and few, but we are still Ouroborasians; Justinian guide us." He added a short prayer, whether in deprication or spiritual fervor remained unclear.
"You have my word." She said, slamming her armored fist against the breast plate." My Officers and I will keep our men in line, the last thing we need is to make enemies of fellow brothers and sisters of Justinian.
"Justinian bless you then!" Bujar clapped his hands together, "as he surely does us."
It had all come together, Rosella had guaranteed her troops would rest easy for now, ready to make another long march to the frontlines.
Aberys-Ouroborasia Border
Town of Gryke
Gryke, one of countless examples of the dreary and mucky atmosphere in Ouroborasia, a stark contrast to their northern neighbors, the Aberysian Principalities. The townspeople of Gryke went about their daily business, trying to survive in their new and harsh reality...but, even in these dark times, a ray of light always finds it's way into the endless darkness, as children run and play amidst in the misery, splashing the puddles forming in pitted sections of the eroding down streets, a charming, if temporary distraction for a few. But that ray of light would shine even brighter today.
Almost without warning, mostly due to the more hushed reactions, crowds begun to form along the side of the town's streets as armed soldiers begun to march through the wet street, their sudden arrival met with curiosity and enthusiasm, taking notice that these men were not marching under the Imperial banner, no, but of the House of Weshland, another wave of reinforcements from Aberys had finally arrived to aid the Rightful Emperor in the fight against the Eastern Witches. Children put a stop to their games as they looked in awe of the arriving soldiers, at the forefront of the soldiers were a trio mounted on horseback, a lovely, if deadly-looking woman at the front, and flanking her were members of the Gryph Knights. The young woman's features was quite distinguishable for the townspeople, her locks as bright as the rising sun, skin so fair and smooth, and an aura of elegance and authority filling the very air.
The townspeople continued to stare in awe, one even yelling a stout, "give 'em hell!" As the woman and her troops made way for the town center, she and her knight escort rushed ahead as their steeds sped up, the Town Elder being quick to act as he and his entourage gathered to meet the trio. As they climbed down from the backs of their horses, the soldiers behind continuing their march until they too reached the center. "Company halt!" A grizzled voice cried out as the soldiers froze and stood at attention.
The Town Elder was a middle aged man of salt and pepper, the previous having passed due to illness just weeks ago, but at a ripe age. He wore a worn look on his face along side the ever present tattoo of a Ouroborasian veteran on his left cheek.
"We have no more lads to give," he started, voice ironically dry, "the Citizen's Militia marched through just two days ago and took our eager. We have only the weak, old and unfit."
The Young woman chuckled, followed by a friendly grin, the elder mistaking her intentions. "Fear not, citizen." She begun. "We've not come for your men and boys." She paused." But first, introductions are in order. I am Rosella Weshland, Princess of the Weshland Principality and Chosen Champion of Justinian, by order of the Rightfully Elected King and the Round Council, I and my fellow weshlanders have come to lend aid."
"If it's aid you wish to give, then who am I to doubt someone sent by Justinian himself," The elder nodded, trying to match the woman's smile, "I am the town elder, elected by the people. You may call me Bujar."
"A pleasure." She said. "Elder Bujar, I came here to both offer and to request." She first took a deep breath. "The trek to the frontlines will be long and perilous, and we've come as far as the eye can see, my forces require a place of rest." She turned around, waving her hand as if giving a signal, a few men nodded back as they broke formation and disappeared among the ranks of their fellows. Moments later, several large grey beasts, the Umuro, emerged from the masses, hauling large carts filled with food supplies.
"I know much will be asked of your town to tolerate our temporary stay." She said, her tone sympathetic. "So, in return, we offer your town a share of our supplies, I'm sure these dire times makes one suffer from hunger."
"With so many gone, we have room to spare," Bujar agreed. "You may very well stay in exchange for food, but I'm no stranger to war or marches," the elder eyed the soldiers behind Rosella, "I know what kinds of hunger men of war gather and we will have none of it here. There will be no scenes made, and no women or children harassed. We may be weak and few, but we are still Ouroborasians; Justinian guide us." He added a short prayer, whether in deprication or spiritual fervor remained unclear.
"You have my word." She said, slamming her armored fist against the breast plate." My Officers and I will keep our men in line, the last thing we need is to make enemies of fellow brothers and sisters of Justinian.
"Justinian bless you then!" Bujar clapped his hands together, "as he surely does us."
It had all come together, Rosella had guaranteed her troops would rest easy for now, ready to make another long march to the frontlines.
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