Upon the Heath

Messages for the Battlemages' Guild
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Upon the Heath

Post by Killraven »

Thunder and lightning. Enter three.

“When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

“When the hurlyburly’s done,
When the battle’s lost and won.”

“That will be ere the set of sun.”

“Where the place?”

“Upon the heath.”




They stood in a loose semi-circle. They knew each other, by reputation, or in passing, or in casual ways through their connection to him, but beyond that, they were largely strangers. There was a curious nature to each of them, in different ways. One was colder, and aloof about it, the second was desperate about it, and the third...

Well the third slumped her shoulders, for she was the one who bore the burden of the knowledge she was about to impart. Knowledge decades in the finding.

"How?" the second woman asked. She was more ex-things than she was things these days. But she was still Alcestis, and her question would be answered. Or else.

The first woman, nodded quietly in agreement. Rienna knew and believed that to Death, all things came, but she still wanted to know the how of it, and if the boy she had trained had met it well. Or else.

"I'm no thief," she thought for the hundred thousandth time. "The only thing I steal, is hope."

And then she began her tale, pieced together from whispers, extrapolated from rumors, filtered through hearsay and witnesses both questionable and honorable:

He had stood alone at dusk, up there on the battlements outside the Guild. It'd been quiet, and empty, and the doorway saddened him with its few visitors, so he stood up near the roof just taking it all in, as men of a certain age did. There was something about the coming Night though, something that made it colder, and darker, maybe even alive. He had felt an ill wind, one he had not felt since he, Chisle, and Vulcan had stood back to back to back in the Conference Room, and fended off an attack from...

She never knew if it was okay or not to say the name. She did it anyway.

"Kar'an'thun."

Was that more thunder? It didn't matter.

Valinore, his Fiery Elemental Steed, stood behind him, his unquenchable warmth serving as ever to keep an old man warm in icy Frostfall. His friendly presence was the only comfort that the man had felt in too long. He'd been drawn there time and time again of late, when the darker, colder, more living Nights seemed long and foul and full of terror. He could resist it no more than he could the rising and falling of his chest to breathe. No more than the beating of his heart.

She choked back a sob that she hadn't known was lurking in her throat. This was too hard.

There'd been no pronouncement. There'd been no warning. No warning shot. There was just...nothing. Some people say they saw it snake up and around the guild itself, its great skeletal mass slithering up to embrace the Battlemages’ Guild like a python would. And when it struck...

Her eyes narrowed.

When it struck, it knew where. And how. Before the man Killraven could react, two things happened, seemingly at once. The creature's

It was like a dragon's skeleton. A Dracolich, she'd heard them called.

sharp, bony-tipped tail sank itself into Killraven's right shoulder, through his lung, and burst through his back, sounding almost like a knife sinking in to a pumpkin. Its head rushed next to his, and whispered something in Killraven's ear:

"How do you like it? How Kalari stabs?"

and caught the fiery equine between its two front claws and pulled. Valinore screamed, and was torn in two. There was a burst of flame and sulfur, and then there was ashes and silent nothing. Killraven's eyes widened in horror, and then stayed that way in shock, even despite them flaring to crimson life and filling him with the Strength of Dragons. Gripping the creatures tail with his right hand, and struggling to breathe with his remaining, non-punctured lung, the mighty Killraven snarled and slowly extracted the appendage from his shoulder and extended his left hand, intent on burning the creature to death with every last ounce of magic he possessed, which was considerable.

Instead, the Dracolich snapped it's neck forward, closed its jaws with a savage sound, and removed the Battlemage's left hand and forearm just below the elbow.


“Do you like having someone take your hand?” it growled at him.

And then Killraven seemed to oddly remember that all of the rings on his now missing hand had been for teleporting to the guild and resisting lightning. The sort of lightning that was crackling and building in the Dracolichs' bloody, gaping maw. The sort that was hitting him in the chest like, well, exactly like a thunderbolt would be described. The type that made his armor fracture. The type that made his hair fall out, and leave lightning-patterned streaks of red beneath his alabaster skin. The type that made his bones visible to outside observers. The type that...

She clenched her fists.

that made him stagger and lurch. It's uncertain whether he fell, or was pushed, or was hit, but he tumbled himself backwards over the parapets, and began to fall headfirst towards the street. The creature snaked its head forward again, and snatched his right leg between its teeth. Summoning everything left inside him, Killraven leaned upwards, cocked back his right hand...

Her eyes watered for the first and last time.

and he punched that thing so...so hard that he tore off his own leg in the process of knocking three of the beast's teeth out. They continued their fall, down to that place, that special place he stood sentry at for so long, at the door to the Guild. The beast clamored to its feet, and Killraven tried to crab-walk backwards on his remaining hand and foot.

The beast was faster. It snatched him with its claw by his remaining leg and swung him like a hammer against the anvil of the frozen earth, over, and over, and over again, howling in rage. Howling in triumph. Killraven's newly-bald head grew misshapen from the impacts, and after being thrown against the ground a final time, he rolled to his back, and tried to spit, but couldn’t.

"why.." he started to ask. Not who. Not what, but why.

"For Rexpen," the creature answered, and breathed more lightning into Killraven’s chest. It went KRAKATHOOM. He screamed in pain with each thundering bolt of the beast’s breath weapon.

"For Tali..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Gawa..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Bilas..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Vulcan..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Conrad..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Chioe..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Dimetrios..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Bobba..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Alaria..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Smauthor..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Tifa..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Druas..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Nile..." KRAKATHOOM
"For Vulcan..." KRA-

"W-wait," Killraven stuttered stupidly, as if he were sticking to some minor point of pride in a meaningless argument. "Y-you already s-said Vulcan, that's b-bullsh…”

KRAKATHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

"And for Kalari…" KRAKATHOOM

"B-both of y-you in there th-then," Killraven stuttered and wheezed cryptically, the fires that were his eyes flickering, dimming, and finally fading to black. He got it now, there at the end, and he clenched his remaining hand into a very naughty gesture aimed at his foe. "G-go on th-then, if ya can. Bring it, ya sonuva…"


She couldn't continue. Partly because she couldn't bear it anymore and partly because there was no more to tell. No one* knew anything beyond that.

"Fighting," the blonde said at last, the left corner of her mouth twitching upwards in the vaguest hint of a smile. She was unhappy, but she approved, sort of, in that overly complicated way of hers before leaving. The other merely nodded, unreadable as ever, and departed as well. Kalari stood alone, until she too vanished.

The hurlyburly was done.
The battle was lost and won.
Ere the setting of the sun.





















*The creature reared back to strike, and considered Killraven's words. Then it stopped. "You say this place, this Frostfall, won't let you die,” it told him. “I've broken your body. I've killed your Steed. I've damaged your brain so badly that you can't summon magic,” it gloated. “You're no longer a Rider, a Battlemage, a Weapon, or even a Man. I’ve done worse than kill you. I’ve broken you,” it mocked gleefully. “Die then, if you can, or wish for eternity that you could."

If it could have smiled, it would have. Instead, it opened a sewer main, and flicked Killraven into it as casually as if he were something dug from the beast’s nasal cavity. Then roaring in triumph, it took flight and vanished into the night. Perhaps it would return from time to time, it decided, drag him from his hole, and take more pieces of him if it pleased it to do so.






A short time later, it began to snow, as it always did in Frostfall, covering up all that had happened with peaceful, cold whiteness, washing away any trace that either of them had been there. It would be some time before anyone thought to look, and even longer to ask. Anyone who wanted the answer really didn’t, and those that didn’t…probably didn’t either.
Kalari the Lost Soul
Posts: 3
Joined: Thu May 18, 2017 6:53 am
Guild: Battlemages
Temple: Dreams

Re: Upon the Heath

Post by Kalari the Lost Soul »

They say there is a bond that transcends all; love, brotherhood, blood, battlefield. As if two souls were really one and the same. She had experienced it all with Him; it was a tale centuries made and centuries forgotten.

They had met when she was a young Assassin, full of herself even then. He was more experienced and full of himself; they didn't particularly get along at first. They forged their first bond through the common interest of defending the streets of Frostfall from any who would do her harm. A respect for battle prowess formed, they became a weapon.

Then came love; she doesn't remember how it happened just that it happened. He would craft her things, trinkets really, but it was the fact that he took the time and effort to make something with his own hands that mattered. It was the first time that she would fade from existence; a black hole in the fabric of time and space. No one really knew where she would go or why, but it was enough to shatter the heart and the man known as Killraven perhaps setting him on his course of self destruction. When she returned from the darkest of darkest places; things were changed. The city was in disrepair, her guild was in disarray, the man she believed would wait a lifetime; carried on.

The anger, hurt, pain and understanding fueled her to be even more reckless than usual. She taunted death with a sickening grin. She found him atop that mountainside intent on delivering the strike upon the trio gathered there. That is, until her icy blue eyes locked upon his and all desire left her vengeful body. In that moment, her love for him grew beyond the heart and mind, but connected her soul to his for eternity.

Decades later found her betrayed by the Assassin Leader and her blood oath held hostage. In desperation she offered her mortal form to the Temple of Death and allowed herself to be reborn. This time a Battlemage, he tested her will and her might on the path to learning her worth. He had slapped her in the face during her trials. It shook her to the core and made her question everything up until that moment. When she faced the Deepest of fears. She was alone and sorely outmatched. She dropped her bounty and she ran. It was then that she knew her worth and found her home among the halls of Battlemage.

Friends and loved ones alike came and went for the pair, but they always endured. A kindred spirit with a wonton passion for blood and jackassery. They'd taunt foe and friend alike. They cursed Zir, they set traps, bait and switch, a beautiful tandem of brute strength and cunning prowess. Kalari would fade in and out through all of those years, always coming back. She never could say where she went or what she did.

It was in those middle years that Killraven had gone upon a journey of self discovery. In his trials he learned many things. Kalari's shape-shifting ability was not as foreign as he once thought. They were related through ancient familial lines from the Wastelands. Bear had shared with him the proud knowledge, even if it still made Kalari's magicks weird and unnatural to him. He always hated when she would shift in front of him and she relished in the knowledge that it really just bugged the crap out of him.

They had seen many events and escalated many more. You either loved them or hated them, but you couldn't forget them. They forged other bonds and endured more heartache and tragedy than any bards tale spoken. They always endured somehow. They would find joy in seeing who could assassinate more Frost Giants; for the record, Kalari won more often than not. Although, it's kinda hard to hide someone of Killraven's physical and mental profile.

In those final years, they faced off with the Lich Lord once more. Boomshaka laka was the warcry when she had blinked the Riftblade INSIDE him, cause Kalari never did anything plainly and quite frankly magick was fun to her.

In that battle he had thought the words she longed to hear for over a century.


I love you

I know

That was it, nothing fancy, nothing ground shaking. She had a job to do and she completed the task and received her payment. Her heart heavy for not having the words to say. To let him know that she loved him back. She faded away again. She had nothing left to put into fighting for all that she had longed for.

Then the rumblings, the general unease, the goosebumps, the distinct scent of a battle worn North Man, that gut instinct. She moved to bring herself from the black. She was too late. All she had were the stories, the rumors, shreds of evidence here and there.

She told her story to the two women standing before her. He went out as he always imagined, but he forgot to take Kalari with him. She disappeared into the shadows once more having satisfied her companions curiosity. A lost soul forever wandering, searching, longing.
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alcestis
Posts: 99
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:08 pm

Re: Upon the Heath

Post by alcestis »

"We could be a power couple. Come on, it'll be fun."

"Why do you love this place so much?"

"Try again. You need to temper the steel. You need to be patient, and you need to feel the heat and the metal for it to be strong. Too much, and it'll be brittle, and then it will break."


She sat by the gates of Frostfall and remembered it all.

She remembered how he had almost laughed at her, the one for whom the word "impatience" could have been created, teaching him to forge, espousing the virtues necessary for the task. He'd made a few decent swords, but he'd never feel the forge the way she did. She remembered the struggle within him - he, of all people, learning to forge, because he had to, because he'd made a promise to protect some people, and he kept his promises, even if it meant breaking his soul. She gazed across the plains, the wind spiking tears across her face. She remembered the struggle within him that day, then she made an impatient gesture at the memory, and at him, the memory of him. "You were always struggling. That word was invented for you." Then she added, "Damnit, Raven."

She remembered setting her sights on him. Perhaps she was bored, perhaps she felt like a challenge, perhaps she wanted something different. They had never exactly been in love, although they were always intense. But they'd created something better than love. It had..endured. They had endured. And they'd sometimes wished that things between them could be as simple as love, but it had never been that way, and perhaps it was better that it hadn't.

He'd taken her to worlds within worlds. They'd talked without speaking, and fought together, in every sense of the word. People hadn't understood them, but they'd understood, and that was all that mattered. She would have liked to think she'd have done anything for him, but she hadn't. She'd done as much as she was willing, perhaps more, and probably more than she'd have done for anyone else.

She'd been tortured, and he'd wounded Catseyes. She remembered. She shuddered at that one.

She thought of the women she'd just left, Kalari and Rienna. She respected them, and, oddly for her, she felt no jealousy, no petty sense of propriety. That was the thing about Raven. Her history with him was just that: her history with him.

He'd given her a sword once, and she took it out now, wanting to feel some kind of warm emotion, but being unable to look at it without critical assessment, without noting that it wasn't a bad sword, but it sure as hells wasn't a good one. Like him. He wasn't good, he wasn't bad. He was Raven, and he was....he was struggle. And he had endured. As if he dared the world to take everything from him, even his identity, even his life, to see how much he could stand. And then he'd stand some more. Killraven stood, even when he was beaten to his knees.

He had fought gods. And he had won.
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