Trial Log

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

Trial Log

Post by Killraven »

Part I: Skill in Magic. This test consists of nothing more than to demonstrate the ability to cast one spell each from three of the four schools of magic. Schools of Magic for our purposes will be defined as Naturalism Spell Use, Magic Spell Use, Sorcery Spell Use, and Group Spell Use.

He sneezed as he opened the Magical Spell Book he had not glanced at for ages. He was actually startled to see precisely how many spells he had learned over the centuries, and had forgotten that he even knew many of the spells scribed within. It should have been easy. Just pick a few and cast them. No big deal, right? But as ever, Killraven was caught inside his own head, believing that the spells he needed to cast had to be exactly right.

So he read and read and read, and instead of just picking the ones he would probably use dozens and dozens of times daily, he decided to go with a theme to suit his new focus.

He thumbed through the pages, stopping at page 56:

Spell Name: Aurora
Spell Type: Naturalism
Spell Point Cost: 10
Pre-Requisite Spell: Zap

This spell magically enhances a character's resistance to
electricity. The amount and duration of this protection is
based on the spell caster's skill.


Taking a breath, he focused his energy, and began to cast. And just when he thought he'd completed the casting of his Aurora spell, he saw a small tadpole appear in his hand.

There was a moment he felt like he was drowning, and that he was going to dissolve into molecules. His confidence was shattered: of course the first spell he tried to cast had failed. It was a failure, and he, he was a failure too. Right?

No.

There in the Room of Contest, in the Battlemages' Guild, he stopped his trembling. He had to.

An ancient power can be felt.

He tried again:

You hear Killraven chant strange words of magic...
Killraven gestures towards himself
Small sparks begin shooting from Killraven's body

A spirit voice whispers, "You do our guild proud!"

"Okay," he said, and flipped to page 87:

Spell Name: Electricity Enchantment
Spell Type: Sorcery
Spell Point Cost: 100
Pre-Requisite Spell: Lightning Storm

This spell allows the caster to add an electricity enchantment to a weapon.
The number of charges and intensity of the enchantment is based on your skill
with the spell. To enchant the weapon, hold it in your right hand and target
this spell.


You hear Killraven chant strange words of magic...
You see Killraven gesture at his Battlemage Rune Dagger...
Suddenly, you see the Battlemage Rune Dagger begin to glow. The glow fades and it now is a Lightning Covered Battlemage Rune Dagger!

Another man might have smiled. But then again, another man wouldn't have been Killraven.

From page 25:

Spell Name: Levitate
Spell Type: Magic
Spell Point Cost: 15

By use of this simple chant, the caster calls forth a small air spirit to
provide a means of simple levitation. The duration is based on your skill with
the Levitate spell. Target the person to levitate.


You hear Killraven chant strange words of magic...
Killraven gestures towards himself
Killraven flashes a soft pink, and then slowly begins to levitate off of the ground!

He floated there, suspended in the air by magick and by will. There was no sense of joy, but there was a sense of justice...right up until the point he realized that he was hovering at the exact height he would have been had he been astride his Fiery Elemental Steed.

Whinnies of Elemental Steeds echo through the guild.

Sobered, he floated to gently to the ground. His ability to cope had been compromised, despite his successes elsewhere. Fleeing the guild without appearing to flee the guild, he encountered the Dragonkin Fearecia again, who decided to follow him as he walked through town. Ignorning her, he found some inspiration and flipped through his book to page 117:

Spell Name: Group Body Restore
Spell Type: Group Spell Use
Spell Point Cost: 24
Pre-Requisite Spell: Body Restore

This spell is one of the most powerful that a spell-casting can
cast. It will heal each person in a group of almost all of its
wounds. The amount of damage healed is based upon the caster's
skill with the spell. You will not need to target a specific
person to heal them. This is a more powerful version of the
Group Regenerate spell.


Killraven says 'Excellent.'
Fearecia asks 'Now what?'
Killraven says 'Hold still. It's been a while'
Fearecia peers at you, looking for a vital clue.
Fearecia asks 'Are you missing having a stalker?'
Killraven says 'No'
A figure passes in the shadows.
Fearecia shrugs her shoulders at herself.
You hear Killraven chant strange words of magic...
Killraven gestures towards his group
Killraven gestures towards himself
Killraven is not damaged
Killraven gestures towards Fearecia
Fearecia is not damaged
Your spell affects nobody and is still in your head...

Extra credit, I guess he thought.
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Re: Trial Log

Post by Killraven »

Part II: Skill in Combat. This test consists of nothing more than to demonstrate the ability to do battle in three of the four Styles of Combat. Styles of Combat for our purposes will be defined as One Handed Weapons, Two Handed Weapons, Missile Weapons, and Martial Arts.


Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. Every friend betrays me, sooner or later, and every enemy becomes a lover or a friend, but the lone thing that doesn’t change is that I don’t ever give up. I can’t ever give up.

These were the thoughts that he had as he entered the cavern. He had scratched some gold together and made a few small purchases. He had never been, and would never be, a rich man, no matter what sort of temporal power had been inflicted upon him. He had Enough. It would have to do.

For the Trial of Combat he had chosen a tiny arsenal of weapons that were designed for apprentices. He would simply run back and forth making a ruckus, which would attract the Kobolds that dwelled in the caverns near his city, and then he would use said weapons to make the world one Kobold shorter at a time. He selected a Turn in the Tunnel that had been worked on recently to keep it from falling in. Even though there had been a reinforcement, rocks were still scattered over the floor. It seemed that the slightest tremor could cause the entire tunnel to collapse again.

He didn't care.

Beginning with a Rune Etched Battleaxe, a two-handed affair of a thing, whose double blades were inlaid with silver runes that glowed slightly at their edges, it was a simple thing to hide behind a reinforcement beam, kick a couple of rocks, and wait.

Kobold scampers in!
Killraven comes out of hiding
Killraven aims his Rune Etched Battleaxe at Kobold and skewers the Kobold, instantly killing it!
Kobold is slain!
Kobold had nothing of value

Adjusting his clothes slightly, he laid the axe aside and selected a Rune Etched Staff, a wooden martial arts weapon that was inlaid with silver runes. It was warm, and throbbed slightly in his hands as he banged it against some rocks, and waited again.

Kobold scampers in from the east
Killraven comes out of hiding
Killraven aims his Rune Etched Staff at Kobold and with a smirk, sends the head of the Kobold in one direction and the body in a different direction...
Kobold is slain!
Kobold had nothing of value

Laying the staff aside, he unsheathed a Rune Etched sword, a one handed long sword that was inlaid with silver runes. Like the axe before it, its edge was clean and glowed slightly. He scraped it along the stones....and waited.

Kobold scampers in from the east
Killraven comes out of hiding
Killraven aims his Rune Etched Sword at Kobold and swells with pride as the head of the Kobold gets lopped off in one shot!
Kobold is slain!
Kobold had nothing of value

Three-quarters of the way done, he produced his Dwarven Throwing Axe . This was no neophyte's weapon. This missile weapon was a mithril hand axe with a dragon bone hilt that was deisigned perfectly for throwing. So he banged the hilt against the floor until he got something's attention.

Monsters in Room: Kobold Miner
Killraven draws their arm back and hurls his Wildly Blue Glowing Dwarven Throwing Axe at Kobold Miner and hits for fatal damage
You hit for 619 damage. The creature's armour absorbs 61.

Kobold Miner is slain! (233 damage overkill)
Kobold Miner had:
Kobold's Corpse

The Trial was now completed, and he turned to leave after packing up his weapons. He had meant to slink away, having taken gross advantage of his skill vs those of the Kobolds. Part of him felt guilt at using them for the purposes of testing his skills, but then again, if his skill had not been enough to carry him, would the Kobolds have felt guilt for his loss?

Surely not.

Lost in thought, he barely had time to register the form suddenly blocking the exit from the caves.


Kobold scampers in!
>
Killraven comes out of hiding
Killraven tries a Flying Kick at the Kobold and skewers the Kobold, instantly killing it!
Kobold is slain!
Kobold had nothing of value


You feel a little better about the world.

"Damn right I do," he said aloud.
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Re: Trial Log

Post by Killraven »

Part III: Knowledge of the Battlemage History and the Battlemage Motto. The most common version of this Test will be a series of questions posed to the applicant either all at once, or at intervals throughout the Trials. These will be recitation and interpretation of the Battlemage Motto, lessons learned from Battlemage History, and discerning actual Battlemage Lore from an erroneous tale made up by the tester. This Trial will also serve as the Knowledge Portion of the Runeguide application, if you have not already completed it.

It's funny how you forget something until you don't. Like the names of the Steeds Nok Twan and Arynessa and their significance. Like what Calril's Blade wass forged from. Like Benjuk's last name. Like why Daelan's Gauntlets are red. Like where that Lich Lord came from. These are facts, which any Student should be able to recite upon command, even if they haven't thought about them in a century or more. There's likely no audience to hear tales telled, and re-daggering a scroll to a wall where people might possibly read it is just about as sad a thought as I can think of.

So, I will deal with our motto.

Baek Wetton Nota En Tui.

"Your worth is gauged by none other than yourself."

In times before I believe that some people have taken this to mean that if only I can judge my own worth, then that somehow frees me from the judgment of others. That it places me outside your rules and ethics and morals and that you should really just shut up about it Karen. I tried to always examine it statistically, or tactically. Am I good/strong/fast/smart enough to win a fight? Should I undertake this quest? Should I allow this relationship to develop? It was, for me, a gauge of "Am I Good Enough?"

And the answer wass always "no."

I liked to believe that this drove me harder, but in fact it disabled me. If I wasn't good enough to be Guildmaster, then I later wasn't good enough to be a Baron, despite holding both of those titles at times. If I wasn't good enough to be a friend, how could I be a boyfriend or a husband, when people still wanted me to? My view of "good enough" was so dim that I missed out on....a lot. What titles I carried dictated my behavior. I always had to carry a gravitas with these titles, and I Didn't Have Any Fun At All while carrying them.

And I should have.

So wrapped up in being a good Guildmaster that I didn't enjoy forging new weapons and crafting these same Trials I'm putting myself through now. So wrapped up in being a good Baron that I didn't enjoy fixing the busted water main and building a beautiful fountain.

So wrapped up in being a good and respectable boyfriend or husband that I didn't enjoy having a girlfriend or wife.

So wrapped up in being a symbol that didn't think he could have any friends, no matter how hard people tried to be one to me.

I carry a lot of regret, these days

Rexpen once wrote that the best Battlemage is the one you are happiest being. And I think that, as always, Rex had the right of it, and that sentiment I think is closer to what the motto should really mean.

Someone asked me about what I got from all this, these accomplishments that I view and bemoan with such regret. And I guess that the answer is that the reward I got from being Killraven is that I got to be Killraven. I don't get titles or glory, I don't get heaven or hell. I get to fight, and I get to die. Sometimes I fall in battle. Sometimes I die hugely, bravely, saving the city I love from something that would destroy it. Sometimes it’s a small, ironic, unnoticed death — I die rescuing a child from a fire or tackling a frightened pickpocket or walking into some dumbass trap. I’ve learned... that it doesn’t matter what the story is, some things never change. Because even when they aren’t talking about me, they are. Because they’re talking about Killraven. He doesn’t compromise. He keeps his city and his Guild safe… Even if it’s safer by just one person… And he does not ever give in or give up.

And when he rises, sometimes it's in Terris, and sometimes it is elsewhere. And sometimes he gets a few years of quiet solitude until he is needed or until he needs to be needed again. But in the end, he is Killraven and he must do what He Must Do, no matter what the cost.

So he does.

That is my worth.
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Re: Trial Log

Post by Killraven »

Part IV: Knowledge of the Runesword. This test consists of nothing more than demonstrating the ability to construct all six aspects of the Runesword and to release the spell each aspect contains.

Then, but also now.

He was standing in the Hall of Self-Improvement.

"The mind can overcome all physical disadvantages," he heard a dwarven Battlemage lecture several neophytes huddled around. She was the closest of several small groups discussing the use of magic to augment conventional skills. She nodded towards him as he approached.

Spellsword Elder Grenthak smiled as he looked at her in her splendid Dwarven Battlemage robes. They were a rich glowing deep blue color, shot with golden emblems of battle-axes, moons, stars and suns. She held a vicious war hammer in one hand as she explained exactly how she would enchant it to provide maximum damage against a fire dragon.

Waiting patiently for her to finish her lesson, sat quietly until its end, when she addressed him.

"Step forward Killraven. It is time for your Runesword quest" she said, motioning to him to take a seat.

"In the far east you will find a crypt. You should seek to gain entrance to this dark lair. I advise you to take other hearty sorts with you as the crypt is a dark and dangerous place."

She paused before continuing.

"In the dark crypt there is a coffin, and you should return with a splinter from it. Be warned that dark creatures live and lurk in that evil place."


But he already knew that. Kalan had ridden with him centuries ago, teaching him how to look deeper into the details of the world. He showed Killraven how to uncover the signs that had been hidden deep, but still available to those that knew how to look to guide the way for youngling Battlemages. He remembered a battle with an Ikunanax to claim the Key, and he remembered asking what was in the crypt when he at last finally found it.

"Only what you take with you," he was told.

Killraven remembered with perfect clarity his first battle with the Taklar Demon Spawn and his court. He had been afraid, and he had been alone, but he had learned to feel the Magick in the world around him and use it to make him stronger and faster. When it was done, he had made some comment about the fight being less difficult than he thought it would be.

He remembered also with perfect clarity his last battle with that swarm. Mostly because it had been that morning.

There was a ceremony, and a sigh, and a proud cry went up as Killraven attained the Runesword.

Break it, Kalan had told him. He had been horrified. He'd gone through so much to earn it, how could he just break it.

Trust me, Kalan had said. And he did.


"Break it," he said aloud, his hands moving deftly and almost too quick to watch. Changing and rearranging the runes until he was satsified.

Killraven fiddles with the items in his hands...
Killraven waves a Sword of Lightning and it begins to glow.
Killraven gestures towards himself
Small sparks begin shooting from Killraven's body


"One," he said.

Killraven fiddles with the items in his hands...
Killraven waves a Sword of Frozen Death and it begins to glow.
Killraven gestures towards himself
Specks of frost appear all over Killraven's body


"Two."

Killraven fiddles with the items in his hands...
Killraven waves a Sword of Inner Sight and it begins to glow.
Killraven gestures towards himself
Killraven sprouts tiny wings and begins to fly!


"Three."

Killraven fiddles with the items in his hands...
Killraven waves a Sword of Soothing Tones and it begins to glow.
Killraven gestures towards himself
Killraven is not damaged


"Four."

Killraven fiddles with the items in his hands...
Killraven waves a Sword of White Fire and it begins to glow.
Killraven gestures towards himself
Flickering flames appear around Killraven


"Five."

Killraven fiddles with the items in his hands...
Killraven waves a Runeswordand it begins to glow.
Killraven gestures towards himself
A hovering glowing shield appears in front of Killraven


"And six," he said quietly, hearing a quiet click in his mind as something fit back into it's proper place.

"You do our guild proud!" something whispered.

The spirit of Benjuk watches over us.
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Interlude

Post by Killraven »

Somnambulism.

Couldn't just say sleepwalking? This is why no one likes you.

It wasn't really sleepwalking anyway. He was awake, sort of, he just felt like he was sleeping or even just going through the motions. He'd been recently reminded of precisely how miserable he had been before it had happened, and he didn't really even know why he continued to be.

The guild was quiet, except in the ways that it wasn't. Spirit voices welcomed him home, sighs were heard as splinters were granted, whinnies of Elemental Steeds could be heard breaking the silence of voices that he either did not hear or outright ignored. It wasn't that he felt he was better or above anyone else, but rather that he was separate. Apart, as opposed to A Part of the guild. Someone from Before, no not that long ago, but a little less than that. He was eld, but not an Elder. He had carried the flag, but he had not stitched it.

Anyway.

It was the Steeds, as always, that roused him. Valinore was gone, his Fiery Elemental Steed snatched away and rended in twain during the attempt on his life. His Steed and his War Sword, leaving him feeling as if he were missing limbs. He was tied to the lightning more than the Flame these days, and the hammer he wielded was a worthy weapon. He got why Alcestis liked them. It wasn't the same though, and neither was life, and neither was he.

His mind played tricks on him. In each Battlemage's life, the moment they experienced in their minds the distant, faraway call of a Steed that had chosen them was one that was Special. With a capital S. In his dreams he thought he heard it, so he rose to be claimed by his Valinore, but when he woke, it was just that. A dream, and one he was not happy to be awoken from.

And so it was that somnambulism drew him to the portals to Ael'lanar, the home plane of the Elemental Steeds. Like a zombie, he slowly became aware that he stood before the Fiery portal, and its heat washed over him, but despite the heat, it remained dark. Valinore had not called him here this time. This time he was alone.

But a knicker hung in the air nonetheless, from nearby. Holding his hammer in his left hand, and resting it on his shoulder like a lumberjack, he followed the sound to a different portal, the Crackling one, and there she was.

"Rhapsody," he said quietly.

He knew this Steed, the one that had chosen Tali so long ago. The Crackling Elemental Steed forced its muzzle into his hand, and he produced from his magic pouch a lemon which he fed the beast. This only made sense to him, the Steed, and it's lost rider. Rhapsody headbutted him again, and he knew what he was being offered.

ooooooo, look brother. I'm riding the lightning!

They had been so fast together. He had loved her, in his way, despite their estrangement and divergent paths. Another victim of the war between who he was, and who he thought he should be. He pressed his forehead to Rhapsody's, and wept openly. This was a worthy gift, and he was honored to have been offered it.

But although the gift was worthy, and the offer was beyond generous, he felt neither worthy nor deserving of it.

"I only ride Valinore," he had told the goddess Naria when he had won her contest to name her mount. She had offered him any mount in the lands as a prize for naming her Mercy. He had respectfully declined.

Wrapping his right arm around the beast's great neck, he patted it lovingly, ran his fingers through her mane, and said the only word he was capable of:

"No."

And so he walked on, for there was work to be done.
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Re: Trial Log

Post by Killraven »

He stood In the Training Grounds.
Students abounded in this courtyard; the continual clack of wooden sparring staves was overwhelming. The din of instructors guiding students towards perfection filled the little silence that remained. Flashes of magical conjuring came from the north, where his destination lay.

Of course it's to the North. He always capitalized it that way.

Stepping into the Room of Contest, he glanced around.
The wood here had long since been stained sanguine red from the spilt life of both summoned monster and Battlemage student alike. Here, wooden practice staves were no more. It was real steel and real monsters. Those that came here had to stand fast, for the teachers here would not save them.

There used to be a tutor here, Kadokin. You could tell him what you wanted to be challenged by, and he would make it happen. Partly illusion, partly real. He had used this room before, sometimes as a demonstration, sometimes to teach what some beings looked like, sometimes to challenge himself.

"No one to duel," he said quietly. Someone had invited him Hunting earlier that day, but he resisted. He might have proven he could murder some idle kobolds, but his skills were shot, atrophied from disuse and disinterest over two centuries ago. So what did he have to prove?

Everything.

And to whom?

Himself.

He manipulated the crystals in the podium, choosing his opponent, ersatz or not. Then he drew a large circle on the floor with the toes of his boot. Stepping quietly to one side of the circle, he waited as smoke and light coalesced into a form he recognized, or thought he did. He had seen this figure before, in mirrors. He wasn't ready to see it here, especially wearing his old armour, the black crystal shimmering in the light, horned helmet menacing, and crimson eyes glowing with angry fire.

Killraven drew his Runesword.

Killraven Of Then drew his.

Killraven bowed and saluted.

Killraven Of Then bowed to no man.

Killraven stepped forward, his Runesword in the high guard position.

Killraven Of Then held his lazily. He was not impressed. It's tip grazed the floor.

Killraven brought his hands down as one, striking towards his foe in a vertical slash.

Killraven Of Then slapped the attack away with contempt, not even bothering to move his feet.

Killraven gritted his teeth, and thrust his Runesword forward like a spear.

Killraven Of Then parried the attack wide outside, and thrust his boot out towards his foe's sternum.

Killraven heard and felt a crack, and fell backwards onto his back. Hurt and embarrassed, he rose. "No wonder no one likes you," he accused.

"I don't care," Killraven Of Then said emotionlessly.

"Liar."

"Prove it."

Down, up, outside, he slashed. Nothing landed, and he barely escaped decapitation by the riposte.

"Why are you even here?" his foe asked.

"I don't know," he said honestly as he struck thrice more, to no avail.

"Predictable," his foe stated before swinging the flat of his blade across Killraven's face.

Down he went again. He didn't even spit out the blood. His foe shifted position, and drew up his blade in two hands.

Killraven stepped forward.

Killraven Of Then did too, and began to rain heavy two handed blows down upon him.

Killraven did all he could to parry and block them, but his shoulders grew tired and his arms grew weak, far faster than expected.

Killraven Of Then continued the assault. He refused to stop, to show mercy, to give an ounce of space.

Killraven fell to a knee, and went for a blade lock, to find a respite.

Killraven Of Then allowed it, so he could bring all his weight down on his foe. He pressed Killraven's blade further towards his own neck, snarling and growling like some animal.

Killraven was tempted to just let it happen. Many others here had faced foes and not told the tale, why was he special? Why was his life worth living, when so many others' weren't, when he arguably shouldn't.

Killraven's Runesword dug into his neck and began to draw blood. He levered has off hand towards the blade and held it like a staff, trying to keep his foe from simply crushing him with his weight.

Killraven Of Then was of no mind to oblige that effort. He simply bore down.

"Break it," he heard Kalan's voice again instructing him, like he had that first day long ago.

I already HAD this flashback, he thought to his very annoying life flashing before his very annoyed eyes. Then he got it.

Killraven used all his strength to extend his arms to their fullest. It took all he had.

Killraven Of Then used all his strength to keep his foe from rising. It took all he had.

Killraven fiddled with his Runesword. It came apart into a Gold Handle and a Silver Blade.

Killraven Of Then lunged forward, no longer being held at bay by the Runesword that was no longer there.

Killraven stepped back once, and fiddled with the items in his hand, combining them into a Runesword! He spun one one heel and swung his blade horizontally.

Killraven Of Then blinked stupidly as his helm was knocked off. He fell to his knees, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Huh," Killraven said before exiting the Room of Contest, his lungs heaving heavily.
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Re: Trial Log

Post by Killraven »

Now: He stood before the Fiery Portal to Ael'lanar. What he was thinking was madness. He had always been told that such a thing was unsurvivable.

"Only if it kills me."

"Yes, that's what unsurvivable means."

The truth was, he might as well be dead anyway.




Then:

He was vexed.

All anyone wanted to know was why he was here. Not how he was. Not if he was okay. Just what he was here for. That same apartness that had plagued him then plagued him now. Even the youngling who had seemed so interested in the Guild's history eventually asked him the same thing everyone else did. He wasn't treated as anything but a threat to someone's power.

"Still don't feel like myself," he mused aloud. It was true that he had figured out some efficient hunting methods, and found himself confident in a solo expedition. The throwing axe was proper, and the hammer was impressive, but he needed a sword in his hand. It was just one of those things.

He also needed...

He sighed heavily. He could just accept this, could just accept that this was how things were now, that this was...how did they say it? The new normal? It was this or...

Now:

He'd looked everywhere else. He'd circled back to the trials in hopes that it would reactivate his "inner Battlemage," that it would rekindle that fire that once raged so bright inside him.

That he would find his Worth again.

Only it hadn't worked, not yet at least. And despite the patience he had been taught, there were limits, and he was beyond them.

Hypothesizing that he could reforge his sword and himself by attempting the impossible, Killraven of Frostfall stepped into the Fiery Portal to Ael'lanar....and vanished.
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Re: Trial Log

Post by Killraven »

It was in the eastern lava pits of Ael'lanar that he began. It was where Valinore had been born, and although he was tempted to look for his lost Steed, he knew better. Yet here he began, nonetheless., and in his time amongst the flames, he began to Forge. Using the heat of the lava pits, he shaped his weapon, and himself, finding and pouring his motivation, his reason to Be, his very Id into the blade. He should not have been able to survive, but he had once cheated and used a potion made with his Steed's blood to temporarily become, what he called, a Fiery Elemental Battlemage.

It didn't mean it didn't hurt though, but as he worked he found his Will. His eyes burned with the crimson fire they once had, and he would continue.


To the central planes he went next, which were far more survivable. As he shaped his weapon further, he was filled with doubt. Was it even worth it? Word had it that the weapons of the Battlemages were weak and useless. Why would he bother to reforge one?

"Don't fear the weapon, fear the man," he had been taught. He had been here before, when Zir poured new weapons into every guild and the fabric of reality had been altered. He had refused to use the daggers and wands the wargod had thought would serve his guild best, and despite his sword's "ineffectiveness," he continued as he always had, piling bodies of Duerger into neat stacks of twenty. This was where his apartness had began. Instead of sitting around complaining, Killraven just found a way. And so it was that Killraven found his resilience. When he was finished here, his eyes flickered again, and glowed with a wild blue light.


To the southern tip of Ael'lanar he went next. It was dark there, or Dark, one might say, and as he worked he remembered his hunger and desire, and instilled these things into his blade. He had wanted to be the Best, the most powerful Battlemage ever. There were those who believed that that wasn't much, but to him, it was everything. The runes he etched into his weapon were dark and drank the light, but one could sense the hunger palpably. When finished, his eyes went dark, and drank the light around him. He moved on.

The Northern parts of Ael'lanar were covered by a continuous lightning storm that had raged longer than he had been alive. His hands shook at each bolt and jolt around him, and his mind threatened to crumble at the rememberance of what had been done to him with lightning. He knelt, and covered his ears, considering ending this quest in it's entirety. "he's found me, he's found me, he's....no" he said, finding his footing and rising. He thrust the blade into the air, and it drank the lightning that it would unleash on his foes one day. Overcoming his fear, his eyes crackled with violet lightning.


The western mountains was where he would finish his quest, if he survived. It was colder here than he had ever experienced, and he used that cold to temper his blade, if he was not careful, both it, and he, would crack. But Killraven was Killraven, and no one could beat him in the snow. Well, at least they could not beat him twice. He considered that snow as he waited for success or death, and sought perfection in the snowflakes that fell around him. What he learned is that although one could search their entire life for a duplicate, but that didn't mean that each one didn't have its own perfection. There was no "right" snowflake, they all were. It was with this realization that came his final lesson, and his eyes became an icy blue.

Stepping back into the guild, after an indeterminate amount of time, with smoke, frost, and static electricity popping every time he moved. He had almost died, but he didn't. It had worked, and had been worth it.

Killraven held his Rune-Gilded War Sword.

His last one had been called "Vengeance." It was a pique-y thing, vengeance. He wanted it against people who had wronged him, usually after he had been a bastard to them. "Nemo me impune lacessit," it had read. "No one strikes me with impunity," it meant. This one bore a different message:

Whoever draws this blade, should he know his own worth, shall possess the power of Killraven.

Soon he would find out if that were true.
Killraven
GM of Battlemages
Posts: 328
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Battlemages

Re: Trial Log

Post by Killraven »

He liked the shield. He always had. It had been made for him, and fit perfectly. If he placed his fists together knuckle to knuckle, and held his forearms parallel to the ground, it was exactly wide enough to go elbow to elbow. The outer ring of the crystal was limned with runes of protection, and the center was crafted so that if it was looked at from one angle, the crest of the Battlemages' Guild could be seen, and from another would show that of the city of Frostfall. More than one drunken evening had been spent by him gazing at it, closing one eye and saying "Battlemages" before closing the other and saying "Frostfall."

"Battlemages."

"Frostfall."

"Battlemages."

"Frostfall."

"Heh heh heh."

The shield stood nearby within reaching distance, propped up by a log he had drug to sit on, and the sheath to his new War Sword was strapped to the inside of it. He admired how the flickering flames of his campfire caused it to twinkle. He liked to carry it on his back, with the sword's handle extending up over his right shoulder where he could reach it. He felt safe here, even as the wolves howled and the snow fell. The stars were bright, and the smoke from his fire danced between them.

"Northern fires are small, so you have to huddle close. Southern fires are large, you have to back away." He remembered telling Alcestis that. She had laughed at him, thinking he was making a joke, when in point of fact he was just stating what he believed to be a truth. Fire was life in the North, it had to be tended to and protected, or else it would go out, and the cold and the dark and the things that dwelled within it would get you.

It's part of why Valinore had been so dear to him. He considered that now as he gazed at the flame. He didn't really know what meditation was, but he imagined it wasn't too different than this as he mused. As his mind both focused and wandered, he imagined his lost Fiery Elemental Steed prancing and charging across the logs in the fire.

A heavy sadness settled in upon him, and he reached for his sword. He didn't mean himself harm, but it felt comforting in his hands. Drawing it, he held it point down and began to absentmindedly sharpen it with a whetstone that was stored in a pouch on its scheath. Returning his gaze to the flame, his miind drifted to Valinore again.

The stone made shushing sounds as he drug it back and forth along the blade's edge. He almost believed that Valinore could step out of the fire and become real enough to touch, so vivid was the image in his mind's eye. So focused was he on the flames that he did not notice as the golden runes that adorned his War Sword began to glow.

Whoever draws this blade,

He was Killraven of Frostfall. He had survived an attack that should have claimed him.

Should he know his own worth,

He had overcome much, relearning the lands and returning to the hunt. He had even learned new magick, and survived a trip to Ael'lanar to forge the sword he was sharpening.

Shall possess the power of Killraven.

The runes glowed brighter, overcoming the brightness of the stars overhead. Casting their light through the smoke from the fire, he again swore he saw the shape of his lost Steed forming in the night. Fumbling the blade, the runes darkened and the shape drifted away. Retreiving it, both the glow and the form returned, the steed fading into view suddenly.

Limned in phantom flames, he stood there before Killraven. Black as night, with the same phantom flames forming his hooves, mane, and tale, his nostrils flared as if somewhere between exhausted and angry.

"I don't believe it," Killraven said as the Spirit of Valinore stood before him, pawing the ground anxiously.

THAT IS WHY YOU FAIL, the Steed's painfully familiar "voice" sounded in his mind.

Sheathing his sword, and slinging it and his shield from his back, he trembled as he approached the mighty Valinore. One hand extended, he placed it on the mighty equines neck, and placed his forehead against his Steed's.

"I thought you were gone. I looked everywhere," he whispered.

I WAS ALWAYS WITHIN YOU. AS I ALWAYS WILL BE.

"Val."

RIDER.


Mounting up, healed and whole, Killraven and Valinore set off into the night, slowly fading out of view, in search of their next adventure....

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