Malach VII - Prophecies Mission II (Fort Ranik)

Yes, Fort Ranik. Before it was mainly used as a training area for new troops. While the Searing has destroyed much of the inner buildings, the sturdy walls still stand. Cracked and broken in places, but strong for the most part.

It took several hours of running before we lost the Charr; during this flight soldiers died in their dozens by Axe Warriors' weaponry and Stalkers' arrows. It took an even longer time to reach this fortress after this. It made me realise that I really should study teleporting spells more - even my sister, my marrow, can usually only teleport under certain specific circumstances. Certainly we could've teleported back to the Hall, but returning to find ourselves behind Charr lines then isn't quite a situation I was aiming for.

After an hour rest in the Fort coupled with some plain food, though it was hot and filling, we worked up the energy to go talk to the commanding officer there - a certain old veteran noble named Lord Darrin. He stood alone, on a platform overseeing the hustle of troops, directing men this way and that.

He frowned when I approached, and began talking almost immediately, "I've seen this sort of thing before, and it does not bode well, not at all.

I nodded, "Your words are quite grim."

"Today is a dark day in the history of Ascalon."

"Why?"

"The Charr have breached the Wall again. They burn our homes and threaten to take what little we have left. The guards who man the Wall have fallen back, and the Charr army marches on Ascalon City."

"How did this happen?"

"The Charr are beasts, but it appears they are not as stupid as many think. They organized a large invasion force and simply overwhelmed the garrison at the Northern Gate. Prince Rurik is directing an organized defense. Even now, he marches toward the Wall from the capital city of Rin. Even so, Rin is far to the west. By the time he arrives, Ascalon City may have already fallen."

This was information we already had of course - after all we had been in the middle of it all. Still, it's never a good idea to tell others everything you know, and besides which there had always been the chance he might have gotten more information while we rested. Seeing there was none of that forthcoming, I decided to sound confident. I'm sure that between my family's resolve and expertise in... certain matters, we could still grasp victory from Charr claws.

"Never fear, Brother, we will rise again."

His old soldier face gave a rare smile at that, "Your words are inspiring, but I'm afraid the end of Ascalon is near. How long can we hold out against such a beastly race as the Charr? They have only one goal, and that is to see the end of us all. You've heard the rumours... even Prince Rurik thinks the time has come to abandon the cities and make for the mountain pass."

Interestingly enough I hadn't heard these rumours yet, but while my face remained impassive, my mind raced. The mountain pass? Then he would plan to take Ascalonians to settle in Kryta, since they surely would not blossom in the Shiverpeaks. Fearing I had remained silent for too long while I thought about this, my next question was one I knew he was hoping for.

"What must I do to save Ascalon City?"

"The Ascalon Army is scattered and in retreat. But small teams are regrouping and making stands against the invaders. If you can push back the Charr, force them out and retake the Wall, Ascalon City will be saved."

"I'm on my way. See you at the Wall."

"The events of the next few hours will either be written about in legend or torn from human memory by the claws of the Charr. The choice of which of these things comes to pass is up to you. Good luck."

With these wishes we gathered our resolves, shouldered our packs, paid a few of the gathered henchmen some gold to join us, and set forth on the path north from this grey, desolate Fort.

For several hours, nothing noteworthy happened. That is to say there were several smaller groups of Charr, but the operative word here is that they were there, after we had passed through. Ashen Claws and Ash Walkers actually provided us with some amusement in this trip as their harsh use of Necromancy was interesting to behold. Sabina in particular found their bestial spells and energies fascinating. The end result for them was the same though. Especially when we encountered several smaller groups of Ascalon guards who were still on their way back from the Wall. Curiously my brother recognised one of these soldiers, the Master-at-Arms Armin Saberlin. This man seemed to recognise Ateuchus in return it seemed, for he asked him a favour while he stayed behind to guard a choke point against the Charr.

"My son Deeter was carried off by the Charr after the first wave. Please find him. He's all I have left."

Grudgingly my brother agreed to this. Damn this loyalty of soldiers amongst themselves. Still, as long as it's not too far out of our way I don't have a huge problem with it. Luckily for us - or, more precise, for the boy - it wasn't. He, together with another soldier, was locked into a wooden cage which the Charr had constructed very quickly! Rosalie studied this cage and seemed to recognise this odd druidical magic. Perhaps something like this magic had been used on her guardian's estate. Something to ask about later, if they can grow wood on the blasted terrain, mayhap we could learn it too. The boy meanwhile was pathetically grateful and more than a little smitten with my little sister it seemed. Still, amongst his prattling he did divulge an interesting tidbit about trebuchets.

"The Overseers were too much for us! The Charr have slaughtered and carried off many of our friends. They must be stopped. I will report back to my father. If you can get to the trebuchets north of here perhaps there is hope."

Making our way further north, we encountered a grizzled old veteran captured by a band of Charr. After we made short work of them, it failed to surprise me that my brother seemed to know this man as well. Did he memorise every fighting man in the Ascalonian army, just because we signed up to the Vanguard? Regardless, this Siegemaster Lormar had a plan and the know-how to help us:

"Damn Charr snuck up on me while I was repairing this trebuchet. It's missing a release lever, restraining bolt, and an arming crack. Search the other wrecked trebuchets to find those three pieces, and bring them to me. If you do we can fix this little lovely, and we'll give those Charr a taste of their own filth. To activate the trebuchet after it's fixed, pull the lever once to load it and once to fire it. Anything under its blast will get blown to bits. But hurry. More Charr come through the Wall every minute."

And this is what we did - finding the parts wasn't that hard, and afterwards these huge trebuchets proved surprisingly powerful. Not quite as thrilling as using a fireball in the midst of a Charr attack, but close enough. After we blasted the area which could be reached by this one to cinders, we moved on to one of these nearer to the Wall. While not an army man myself, I have to confess these trebuchets are both easy to use and quite effective. With this latter one firing blast after blast we managed to drive the Charr back through the Wall once again. Still, we could not drive them from the Wall itself, only make sure they stayed there.

We stood guard here for a few hours, blasting any Charr daring to show its ugly face, before Prince Rurik arrived at the head of a company of soldiers. These quickly took over the trebuchets and troops were ordered to clear the Wall of Charr and drive them further north. The Prince meanwhile bade us to follow him while he inspected the countryside from a high vantage point.

"The time for action has come. No more cowering behind this wall. From now on, we take the fight to our enemies."

Bold words, but before we could react a shout came up from below, "Prince Rurik! Prince Rurik!"

The prince stepped to the wall and looked down, "What is it?"

The guard's armor was torn and burned in places, his face bloodied and tired, "Prince Rurik. We are victorious, but it has cost us greatly. During their retreat the Charr took prisoners. Several of our wounded have been carried off."

The prince growled at this, hitting the wall in front of him with his mailed fist, "Ascalonians will live in fear of these beasts no more. We march to the north, to free our brothers and take back that which has been taken from us!"

And so we moved.

Malach VI - Prophecies Mission I (The Great Northern Wall)

"We fear the Charr General Bonfaaz Burntfur is planning a mass raid on the Wall. Head north into enemy territory and find out what that mangy beast has planned."

This was the comment with which captain Calhaan of the Ascalonian army commanded us forth. Hmm, I have to say my family, perchance it was a mistake to accept the Prince's invitation to join his Vanguard. While it did give us access to sources of information we did not have before, it also makes most officers feel they can order us around now.

Not something which I signed up for. Somehow I could sense how my brother barely managed to keep himself in check. Not a surprise, that. He commanded vast armies - more men than this little officer ever saw - and yet here he needed to obey this Wall captain's orders. I told him that the information about the Charr army would be interesting to us personally as well, and that seemed to satisfy him. At least, he stopped glowering at the captain too hard.

A handful of henchmen for mundane tasks we took with us. A fighter, a monk, an archer and a mage. Not in our league, far from it, but they were useful. The first part of the trip was uneventful. Certainly, there was an assortment of various scruffy or scaly monsters, but between axe, flames, dominance and necrotic power they were nothing more than just a little diversion. Suddenly my sister, my marrow, stopped and gazed at the entrance to a tomb. Her voice echoed strangely between the blasted hills and the heat of the ground was momentarily dispatched.

Then, a ghostly apparition appeared garbed in full armour. His voice echoed hollow as he addressed us, "In life, I was known as the Champion of Surmia. In death I am but a restless spirit. Please help me. The enchanted armour that sealed my tomb has been stolen. Find it and return it to me, so that I may pass into the Rift."

For a second I thought I could see something in the eyes of my sister, the younger one. Recognition perhaps? Did she know this Champion of Surmia? Interesting perhaps, for another time.

The armour parts were easily found, someone seemed to have hidden them in wreckages here and there. Most likely to sell it at a later date. Not surprising that, it was in excellent condition and quite clearly magical. At another time I would have kept this for myself, to study the lattice of magic and metal combined.

"Thank you! I will remember your kindness when we meet again in the Underworld."

With these words of thanks the ghost disappeared once more after he was presented with his armour. He did not have time to see the faint smiles on some of the faces in front of him. This promise might've been a hollow one to anyone else, but we Scarabae remember debts and debtors... and we know the Underworld well.

Moving further along the road now we suddenly observed the Charr army, being whipped into a frenzy by a speech of their General. My brother clinically observed the army, calculating strengths and weaknesses, numbers and formations.

Then we were spotted! Just the one scout we had missed. Hellfire! The Charr General - and I have to give him points for quick thinking here - used this to direct the frenzy of the Charr troops against us. So we ran, followed closely by hundreds of Charr. Once in a while I threw back a fireball, to gain us some distance, and some of the other ones who could cast did the same. Arriving seconds before them at the Wall the captain was warned and observed the arriving army. Then he made a good call.

"There are too many. We'll never hold them back. The Wall is lost. We must fall back. Retreat! Retreat! Regroup at the bunkers just north of Fort Ranik. We can't let the Charr make it to the capital."

And this is what we did.

Rosalie I

I was born Rosalie Isadora Emilie d'Orenius-Hautala, daughter of Lord Pascal and his famously radiant wife, the Lady Colette. The great bloodline of my family hails from the distant past, and the men of my family have been protectors of Ascalon for days unnumbered.

I spent an idyllic childhood, as the only heir, in the lush, green landscapes of our family estates, protected from the world outside, shielded from death and destruction. As my father was a trusted advisor of our beloved King, I can recall many grand feasts held in the glittering ballroom of our home. Adalbern himself sat me on his knees and told me tales of heroes and their prowess during those golden days of my youth.

The time passed in a haze of pleasure and fun, with only the frequent changing of my nurses and governesses marring the perfection.

Sadly, this all came to an abrupt end when my father died of a mysterious illness in my twelfth year, and I was sent by my mother to a prestigious girl's school for promising Mesmers. I had always shown an aptitude for the arts of Illusion and Domination, and perhaps my mother did not want the responsibility of bringing me up herself, now that my father had deceased.

In this school I spent a great part of my formative years, the days flying by in a rush of feminine pursuits, making shallow, but then meaningful, friends along the way.

Lies. All lies.

It soon became clear that I was not the only one in the family with a penchant for deceit and illusion.

Some years after enrolling in the school, my classmates and I were having our customary duel practise, and I was paired up with one Elissa, my school time nemesis. Childish squabbles had always been present during our interactions, and I cannot say I was best pleased with my adversary.

While we were perfecting our skills of the Imagined Burden hex, Elissa said something to me. Something I no longer remember, or perhaps care to remember. I felt a primal surge in me, and the next thing I was aware of was Elissa lying dead. I had used Blood Magic with devastating consequences.

The next days passed in confusion. My mother was sent to fetch me home. Luckily Elissa's family was not an influential one, and my name carried far more weight. The event was hushed up though I, naturally, was expelled.

The journey back to our mansion was a long and silent one. My mother, the perfect, superficial chatelaine, who had a smile for everyone, sat staring and transfixed. Not one word was uttered. I had never imagined my weak mother as having any depths before, but now I wondered.

The following two nights were spent in this oppressive gloom, us sharing our dinners at the large state table, avoiding the eyes of the other. A novel feeling reigned over me: for once I wanted to know what my mother was thinking about. What she was hiding from me.

On the third evening the Lady Colette entered my bedroom with unusual solemnity. I realised that I missed her smile. That night she told me who I really was. She told me of my father. My sire was not Pascal d’Orenius-Hautala, but a being she had believed to be a God.

My mother had displayed considerable charm, beauty and skills in the Mesmer art when she was young, and the eye of my sire was caught by her life and vivaciousness. A village dance in the hamlet where my mother grew up as the squire’s daughter, led to something very different. It was the Harvest Festival and feelings were high.

I can see it now, burned into my mind’s eye. The sweet, rustic, apple cider, the music, the excitement of the chase, the sweat-soaked bodies locked in the dance of life, writhing in the moonlight. This sordid coupling sowed the seed that was to be me.

Who was the man I had called father then? A peer of the realm that had fallen in love with my mother in the days of her glory, before the realisation that Lokutus’ love was not for her, made her a shell of her former self. The foolish Lord Pascal thought he could save her with his love. To awaken her from the curse. To make her care for him in return, instead of that desperate adoration she felt for her paramour of the Harvest Festival.

He failed. My mother became nothing but a shining jewel to display to friends. That one night of passion has taken her life from her. I am glad that the man I called father is dead. I shudder to think of the shame and degradation he must have felt every day of his marriage to his true love, to his gem, to this fallen, sinful woman.

Of course I thought her mad at first. What ridiculous drivel! Clearly the illusions of a mind unhinged. A lonely woman with ideas of grandeur. Laughable!

Then she said it. She told me my true name. A name that my sire had whispered to her during their encounter all those years ago. I knew then that she did not lie. The name reverberated inside my mind. It brought up ancient wells of power yet untapped into. I knew that my incident with Blood Magic was not the first or last encounter of its kind. It explained the reason my mother had always looked at me with a mixture of adoration, fear and hatred,

Old, forgotten (or willfully hidden) memories sprang up. I remembered childish experiments conducted on animals. Watching their bodies twist in the convulsions of pain. I recalled the dark, frightened looks of countless nurses and governesses and knew now the reasons for their swift departures.

Only Lord Pascal had loved me. Did he know who, what I was?

I left my home and took on half the ancient name meant for me. I kept the other firmly locked inside my mind, where it still rages, willing to be released by my tongue. But I wished to remind myself of what half of me was. I am Rosalie Scarabae and I have left my home in search of something.

A greater truth perhaps? An answer to who I truly am? An explanation of why the crude powers of Necromancy seem to slowly be overtaking my beloved skills of Domaination?

Death will hold no secrets from me.

Ateuchus II

The watch is set and I find myself with another idle moment. Things are…easier here in the Battle Isles, despite the evocative name. Since turning my hand to the guardianship of this Hall, those that serve to protect the walls have proven not entirely incompetent. I doubt, however, that they have appreciated the act of honing much. Another few months and one might even feel at peace here.

A curious notion, peace, I wonder what it’s like. I suppose if I should ever feel it’s like I should have to leave. And yet, the thought of departing this place is somehow disquieting. My mother still lives among her river-kin and writes that I should return before she forgets what I look like. Unlikely that- all things considered- just another of her dry jabs to ‘lighten my spirit.’ I am not ready to go yet, there is still much to do in the Hall and there is the matter of this brother and sister that I have yet to come to terms with.

My father instructed me to ward Sabina, which I have done, but she puzzles me. She seems torn in several directions, a dangerous thing when one is used to facing naked steel. You choose instinctively and decisively, without hesitation, or you end up decorating the end of a pole. She is of a quiet nature, and when the blood rage takes me I think it terrifies her. Perhaps she would feel better if I were to tell her that it frightens me as well. I do appreciate the new quill she has given me after seeing my lack of success with feathers. A decent heft and strong, I think it bone-wrought but knowing the little I do of her studies do not really want to know what it’s made of.

Malach I know even less of. He seems more decisive, yet clings to his past. I would tell him that holding onto an anchor is a sure way to drown, or perhaps chain him to a stone and toss him into the sea to make the point more bluntly, but he is not under my command and does not come to me for advice. He seems fond of his own voice and asks a lot of questions, but I suppose I cannot blame him his curiosity.

So I write… and will stay awhile longer.

Letters From Sabine II (RE: Malach V)

Brave Brother!

I know I still have a heart for it twangs with agony at the knowledge of your loss! I am rendered numb with regret and I think I am learning how to fear…

…I’ve watched the graveyards of my husband’s province impaled by a multitude of obelisks for the dead. Yesterday I carved one for your loss, with the name of your beloved. My eyes burned as I did this and then came the gnawing jowls of regret snipping at my gut. It was a physical thing – this ‘feeling’… that something could have been done!

I have seen my pious spouse perform this trick! But he did not draw on the dark powers of necromancy. What came forth were not a muddle of flesh or bone, nor was it a lucidly smiling spirit. What rose was a mended and wholesome being true to its original self! This is not necromancy! None that I have seen! It is…

…I do not know what it is.

When I asked him, he laughed, wiping blood and greased sweat from his face – a face that miraculously seemed radiant. He told me that the Ascalonian monks possess such knowledge and that perhaps I would do better among them. I think it was my girlish silence, my wide-eyed mute confusion that softened him. I did not want him to send me away! What would Father do if I failed? Instead, he cradled my cheek within his calloused giant hand and looked at me with so much revealed behind his eyes that I was blinded by it.

“When we defeat these wretched Charr you may leave Orr and return to the Hall of your Father for a visit.” Was his promise to me and as my husband takes to the field this day I tell you, my brother best loved, I shall be with you soon.

I must seek out the Orrian priest of the household and see what he reveals. I suspect it shall be preciously little, but I swear to you, My Malach, you will never lose another close to your heart!

Marrow of your bones, now and ever.

~ Sabine.

Letters From Sabine I (RE: Malach IV)

My Malach,

I will confess this to you and you alone: I never loved, so your fascination with this ebony-eyed foreign beauty is as foreign to me as it is fascinating. Yet I suppose that I do understand your passion – you who plays with the elements so willfully, who calls down comets to incinerate those that displease you – you who dabbles wantonly with the wrath of storms and who is given to moods of melancholy. Perhaps this love is a trifle like your moods and you gave yourself over wholeheartedly in a flutter of a second to something you know cannot last…because the passion of the moment renders it eternal, if only in your memory.

My husband is a man worthy of love. Respect and fealty are all he receives from me – along with gentleness I never feigned, but that was as far from any semblance of passion as a burial is from a wedding. He is a strange, spiritual man. Pious. I marvel at the warlike grandeur of him that nestles in his heart alongside complete, irrevocable submission to a higher power. I entertain idle thoughts of what it would be like to be that ‘power’. What it would be like to pander to such ultimate subordination?

I wonder…

Marrow of your bones, now and ever.

~ Sabine.

Malach V

It could not last.

Mayhap in some way I knew that even then. But I, I could hope. And fool myself. All other swindlers upon earth are nothing to the self-swindlers, and with such pretences did I cheat myself. Surely a curious thing. It started out innocent enough though. I had been in Kamadan several weeks at that moment - I sent the ship back to the Battle Isles with a message for father I would stay in Istan for a while - and never more than an hour apart from Malikat. We travelled everywhere on Istan - from the Astralarium to the Mehtani Keys.

Unbeknowst to me, she was a novice Sunspear, one of that ancient order dedicated to protecting the three realms of Elona. Truthfully, it wouldn't have made any difference to me, had I known - but it did to someone else. Someone didn't like the fact that a Sunspear was getting so close to a member of a strange House, with whatever resources or troops these could muster.

So.

They.

Had.

Her.

Killed.

I came across her body on the plains we had been planning to meet again. Several electrified corpses around her, clearly she had gone down fighting... Her skin was pale and bloodless as she lay there, in a pool of her own blood - with arcane symbols written in it. I know you, my siblings, would think that resurrections, though outside the means of the ordinary peasant, are easy enough for us. Yes. But whatever magic I did, whomever I turned to, nothing could be done. Her soul had been banished to the Mists and could not be recalled to her body.

For anyone else, this would have been the end, but I had knowledge of magic and necromantic rituals far beyond theirs. I retrieved the body from the Sunspear mausoleum, and took it with me to Blacktide Den. There I slipped further into the swamps of Lahtenda Bog. Here, in the gloom and away from prying eyes, I started the ritual. Using necromantic knowledge I've gotten from father, magic from Ascalon, and finally some of the the Mists-tearing power of the Canthan Ritualists, I succeeded.

And I failed.

I managed to liberate her soul from the shackles of the Mists, but I could not resurrect her. She could manifest in this world for short amounts of time, before having to go back to the real life after. She did smile at me with the same smile as in the beginning, as she said her goodbyes. To my prying questions she did tell me who her assailant had been, as she faded out.

A Kournan operative in Istan. I managed to locate this operative and... persuaded him to give me the name of the one giving the orders. The Warmarshal of Kourna herself, Varesh. She had given the orders, not only to kill Malikat, but apparently also me - I had just reached the plains too late.

I had to run from Elona now, since more Kournan operatives were tracking me down. I left then, but I made an Oath as I spilled some of my blood on the lands there. I will be back there, when I am strong enough.

And when I return Varesh will burn. Even if I have to destroy all of Kourna to get to her.