Post by sundavar on Aug 6, 2011 22:38:12 GMT -1
Okay, so this is sort of in the spur of the moment...as i've probably told some of you, i've been trying to write a story based around Jowan and Vestigals for a while now, am bogged doen about a third of the way through it. I thought i should put this part up because its how i visualise Jowan becoming who he is withut the restrictions of wither the warcraft or Dragos timelines. Anyway, The whole story is waaay to big to put here (50 pages in Word o.O) but i'd kind of like to know what people think, at least about this part as its probably the closest to finished out of all of it.
For reference: Kalaiden is basically Silvermoon, Magi/the Circle are the Magisters, sentences in italics are spoken by Nai'Koth, Ragnar are similar to Fel Orcs (imagine them in HD!) and Roselyne and Caleb are Jowan's wife and son respectively.
Kalaiden was alive with a frenzy of activity, though not the kind the city was used to. The Magi had sensed the approach of the Ragnar horde long before the city’s scouts had their first sightings of them. Jowan had awoken from his dream state to find an initiate Magus waiting for him, the boy only a decade or two older than Caleb. He had been summoned along with every other active Magus in the city (those not currently working such as Roselyne excluded) to be briefed on the situation.
The Circle was unprepared for the sheer size of the approaching force. They had expected a roving band, as had occasionally caused trouble for the elves before, but never before had a gathering as large as the one approaching been recorded. The Ragnar were considered little above animals, creatures acting in packs and rarely if ever gathering more than that. And yet here was the proof that that was wrong. The Magi were given orders to prepare anyway they could, for each individual knew their strengths and limits better than any other. The city prepared for siege- something almost completely foreign to the elves.
Now time was running out. They had done what they could- now they could only wait. Soldiers who had never seen true battle gathered at the city gates, armed with long curving blades and round shields, clothed in mail armour and flowing red cloaks. They looked more like a royal guard than a true military force, but such was the way of elves. Appearance and discipline were almost as important as combat capability. Along the city walls stood rows of archers, light leather armour allowing for more fluid movements. Each held a wooden longbow intricately carved with patterns depicting in some way its owner. On each of their backs hung a quiver filled with arrows fletched with red feathers, each one perfectly balanced through magic. Scattered amongst the archers and in greater forces atop the city’s many towers, stood the Magi in their crimson and gold robes. Some stood already chanting softly, preparing spells that would safeguard the host or trap enemies, while others merely waited. One thing was common amongst the defenders; their expressions. Each held fear in their eyes.
Alone atop one of the towers stood Jowan, his expression unique amongst those gathered. His was grim, but determined. He stood facing the opposite direction to everyone else in the city, gazing not in the direction of the approaching horde but out onto the city itself. He took in the visions of gilded walls and masterfully crafted statues, twisting spires and enchanted plants. As the sinking sun glanced over the city, Jowan knew this would be the last time he would see it in its glory. Slowly he turned, casting his gaze into the forests. A dark haze loomed on the horizon, smoke from the trees the horde burned in its advance. It was as though the sunlight suffered as much as the land from the march of the unnatural army, wilting away at its approach.
Turning, he descended the tower and made his way back to the Magus Tower at the city’s heart. Since Nai’Koth had contacted him, he had worked to process the information planted in his brain. The Vestigal’s mind was so alien to any he had encountered before that the task proved more difficult than he had anticipated, but over time he managed to find what was needed. Details for a process called the “fusion”.
The need Vestigals had for energy made it near impossible for them to survive outside their realm, at least for any substantial period of time. To combat this, they were able to literally fuse with a being of the physical realm, sharing in the energy its body produced and feeding off the emotions from it and those around it. However, for a reason Nai’Koth had not revealed, it was a practice almost never attempted. Jowan knew it would entail massive amounts of pain on his part, firstly to wear thin the barrier that separated his world from the Afterlight and then when he himself would feel that other realm as his counterpart became one with him. He knew his life would be forever altered...assuming him or indeed anyone survived the attack. But thinking of his wife and son, it didn’t matter. He would die if they could live.
He almost turned back to his home as he neared his destination, thinking of them. He had eventually persuaded Roselyne to stay with Caleb rather than send him with the other children of the city, to be protected by a group of Magi still within the Tower. He had no doubt that alone she would be far more powerful than all of the guardians combined, for only the weakest in combat had been left to watch over the children. There was an assumption that they would not be needed...or, if they were that it would already be too late.
He scaled the tower, making his way to his study. He sealed it magically once he entered, not wanting any intrusion. Worry had began to worm its way through his mind; neither he nor Nai’Koth knew exactly how the process would affect them, knew only they would change. Jowan feared that he would be unable to help the others, that instead of saving his family he would damn them...but no. The voice like a breath of wind blew through his mind, calming him. What had to be done would be done.
He moved across the room, slipping off the deep blue robe he wore as he did. He let it fall to the floor, moving towards his desk wearing only his blue silk trousers and boots. The cloth would only get in his way. On his desk atop the scribbled piles of notes sat an ornate knife, of fine make. Its blade gleamed like silver despite the dim lighting of the room, and veins of black enamel traced it. As he lifted it, Jowan realised he was shaking so he forced himself to focus, taking deep breaths and steeling himself for what was to come.
He moved to one side of the room, where a polished mirror hung from the wall above a low basin. All magi had such in their studies, due to the sometimes messy results of their practice; tonight it would serve a purpose Jowan suspected was far from that intended. He stared at his reflection, as one might an old photo. His dark eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, his skin a shade paler than normal. Nevertheless, he noted every detail and stored it in his mind- this may well be the last he would see of himself.
He lifted the knife to his left arm, holding it out before him. He made no effort to resist clenching his fist, knowing that doing so would make the cut more painful...something that Nai’Koth had assured him was necessary. He took several deep breaths, adjusting his grip on the knives hilt as he tried in vain to prepare. For a moment he seemed certain he would lack the courage to continue, but then once again he felt the breeze in his mind.
You must now...Too much rests for you to shrug this duty...
The voice was stronger than it had been, clearer. Jowan knew Nai’Koth had been putting all his energy into stabilising their connection, and he would not let that effort be in vain. Eyes narrowing and fists tightening, he quickly drew the blade through his arm.
What happened next passed as a blur for him. He made more incisions in both of his arms, increasingly deep and erratic as he lost his control. Grimacing in pain, he brought the knife to his chest, plunging it in far deeper than he should have. As blood started to pour out, he stared at the mirror, using it to guide his hand as he carved the pattern show to him by Nai’Koth, the outline of a skeletal wing much like those the Vestigal had. He groaned and raised the knife a final time, now soaked in his own blood, and drew the tip over his forehead. He did so lightly, not trying not to damage his skull, but tore through the skin and formed the strange glyph he had been shown. He dropped the knife and staggered back, falling to his knees in the centre of the room and certain that he would die. And then the pain truly started.
He cried out as a terrible agony pressed itself upon his entire body. Like a thousand fires burning his insides, sharp needles being pushed through every exposed scrap of flesh, the pain ravaged him until he no longer knew what happened. He lost awareness of who he was and what was happening, giving in to the raging abyss that was forcing itself upon him. What he felt was the raw atmosphere of the Afterlight, slipping through into him as Nai’Koth did. Just when he thought he could take no more, the pain abruptly vanished as suddenly as it had come. Dazed and in shock, Jowan fell to the floor as the world became black.
((I removed a paragraph here concerning another character because it would take too long to explain them))
Jowan awoke.
That fact alone surprised him as he lay in the puddle of his own blood that now stained the floor. He had been sure he would die, succumb to the terrible pain that had wracked his body and mind...
Peace, youngling. It is done.
He gasped as he felt the presence in his mind. Now they were one, he felt Nai’Koth so much more and was awed by the sheer power of the vestigal. Somehow inside him was a consciousness that defied adequate description, one so ancient and intelligent it showed him how insignificant his own kind truly was. And yet this godlike being had chosen to fuse himself with a creature undoubtedly inferior to itself, yet Jowan could sense the respect it felt for him.
I give to you my power youngling. You shall not age, shall not hunger. You may use what I am as necessary. I ask only that you help me complete my task.
Jowan forced himself to his knees. His body felt weak, unsurprising considering what had happened. Yet as soon as he thought such, he felt a power course through his limbs and knew the vestigal helped him. He could feel Nai’Koth as a presence at the back of his mind, watching his actions but at present not intervening. He rose slowly to his feet and looked down at himself. His body was coated in dried blood, but surprisingly his wounds were sealed. Wiping some of the blood from his arm off, he saw the lines he had cut were now scars, blue rather than white and glowing very faintly.
He had no idea how long he had been out for, but he could hear the sounds of battle from outside. It jarred him into action. Not bothering to clean or clothe himself, he bolted out of the study, running as fast as his legs would carry him down the towers corridors. As he ran past one room, he saw a group of high ranking Magi sitting around a table, talking, drinking, laughing. He didn’t know how they could at a time like this. They ignored their duties at what was undoubtedly the cities darkest hour.
One of them must have seen him as he passed; he heard the group stumble out after him. He realised that Nai’Koths presence must have heightened his own senses and reflexes, for when one of the inebriated elves tried to grab his shoulder he darted to the side with a speed that surprised even him. It was only when he saw their faces that he realised how he must look; a thin, pale man bathed in blood with steely eyes burning in determination. He saw the fear in their eyes, he smelled it.
But his shock at this was quickly overwritten by his short temper. Their interruption irritated him and he lashed out at the one nearest him. The unfortunate man was pushed back into several of his companions, with enough force to throw them all into a wall. Jowan felt a tingle of energy as Nai’Koth fed on their pain, and for a moment guilt pushed into his mind; But then he realised they didn’t matter. None of them did, neither did he. All that mattered now was Kalaiden.
It wasn’t until he got outside that Jowan realised just how badly he was needed. The defenders at the city gates had been decimated, and more continued to fall as the Ragnar flanked them. He was amazed by how organised the horde seemed- While their weapons looked primitive, they were all armed and armoured. He even thought he could see a few archers further back, something unheard of among the beasts. Most worrying of all, he saw several of the Magi atop the towers fall, his augmented vision granting him images of horrific deaths as their flesh seemed to dissolve. It looked eerily similar to the spell originally cast by the elves against the orcs, except this time it worked without fail on each target. This could only mean the Ragnar had spellcasters. While the existence of orcish Shamans was grudgingly acknowledged, the idea that Ragnar had something similar was almost impossible to believe. And that made them all the more effective.
Reaching out with his mind as he had so many times before, Jowan suddenly found himself overwhelmed by the minds surrounding him, forcing him to retreat into his own to recover. Truly Nai’Koth had changed much. Before he had been able to touch a few minds at a time, if he concentrated he could perhaps get a general picture of those close to him. What he felt now was a vast expanse of consciousness, the mind of every one of the thousands, if not tens of thousands of beings within and surrounding Kalaiden. He reached out again, more cautiously this time but was still blinded briefly by the sheer magnitude of thought. Searching carefully, he identified each of the Ragnar spellcasters by feeling the magic inside their brains, then forces his own upon them. Their minds were crushed with energy and he felt their thoughts extinguish one by one as they died painfully.
The rush he felt from their deaths concerned him. He had never been inside the mind of a creature as it died, and had never before felt the pain of life ebbing away. Yet in his new state, he relished it.
Focus
A whispered thought at the back of his mind. And so he did. It would not do to lose control to such a primal instinct, a desire for power. To do so would make him no better than the fiends attacking.
Returning his thoughts to his own body, Jowan was shocked to find himself standing in the middle of a sea of Ragnar. The soldiers at the gates had finally been overwhelmed and the beasts surged through into the city. Oddly, they paid no mind to him, flowing around him as a river would a rock, as though he was completely invisible.
It was only then that he realised he was. Either Nai’Koth, or unconsciously he had cast a spell that rendered him invisible but generated a magical shield around him to prevent him from being touched. He used the moment’s safety to gather his thoughts. The bulk of the cities’ defenders had been set to guard the gates, assuming the thick oak doors would be enough to keep the Ragnar out. However, they had broken through with astonishing ease- as far as Jowan could see the wood had been blown apart. More evidence of powerful spellcasting, not that he needed it. Now most of the soldiers were either dead or crippled beyond recovery. He knew there were a few pockets of them further into the city, but there was no way they could stop the horde on their own. That left him.
You are not alone.
Jowan frowned as he felt the presence in his mind grow, then gave into it when he realised its intentions. What happened was they effectively changed places, with Nai’Koth assuming control and Jowan being pushed to the back of his own mind. To him, it was as though he were trapped in a small room while staring out a window at his own actions, similar to a dream. While not a very pleasant sensation, he realised this was the existence Nai’Koth had chosen. Once again humbled by the being, he settled down to watch what it could do.
The experience was as disconcerting for the Vestigal as for its host, though it recovered far quicker. Pausing only to briefly inspect the body it controlled, it- he, for he was a part of Jowan now- set his power into action. With strength and control Jowan could never hope for he gathered together energy then released it, resulting in a blast wave of blue light erupting from where he stood. The energy had no effect on the surroundings, passing through buildings and even any elves it happened to touch as though they weren’t there. The Ragnar however, were each seared as though struck by a wall of flame. They roared in agony as the flames disintegrated their bodies, reducing them to ash and cutting their screams abruptly short.
That seemed to capture their attention. While more than enough of the horde stayed back to deal with the remaining defenders, the bulk turned their gaze to the small, pale, puny looking figure that held such power. As one they moved closer, forming a circle around their prey as a pack of wolves might-In fact there was evidence that they had an even more powerful pack instinct than the lupine hunter. Without warning they charged forward, as one swinging their weapons and claws.
Were it not for his new ally, Jowan would surely have been killed. As it was, although he received injuries Nai’Koth’s magic healed them so quickly he wondered if he simply imagined them. The Vestigal launched a frenzied attack that rivalled his opponents, encasing Jowan’s hands in blue fire that coalesced into talons much like his own. They tore through the Ragnar with brutal ease, and gradually the horde thinned.
While Nai’Koth fought Jowan was by no means idle. From within himself he had no control over his own body but was still able to cast magic, which he did with effects almost as deadly as his counterpart. With his enhanced powers, he was able to create raging infernos amongst the horde. But he had a problem to consider. While any wounds he received were healed, that did not mean they did no harm- he was infected with the Ragnar’s infamous poison.
Yet it was not poison. Experiencing it for himself, Jowan was able to reach conclusions that had since been hidden. He had seen the effects of it before; the victims own blood became a weapon, attacking their organs until they failed altogether. Only it wasn’t poison, it was magic. Able to study himself from the inside, Jowan could feel it trying to act on him and he saw immediately the similarities between it and the spell used against the orcs. More shockingly, he felt a similarity he had not in all his studies of the magic; he felt the pattern of the spell, the threads that held it together. The intricate pattern that could only have come from elves.
And in seeing it’s workings, it became suddenly clear. The so-called poison was in fact residual energy from the spell that made the creatures, and the altered symptoms something akin to an allergic reaction to the elves’ own spell. But for the Ragnar to have such energy, the spell must have been cast on each of them individually; they would have to have been centuries old to have seen the battle...
Something about Nai’Koth’s feelings jolted him out of his own thoughts. Looking out, he realised the fighting has stopped. They stood covered in a mixture of green Ragnar blood and the red of Jowan’s own while the creatures backed away. Jowan almost questioned why Nai’Koth did not continue but then he felt what had stopped him; a presence approaching.
The Ragnar that remained formed a wide ring around them, the fear rolling off them in waves. Then they started to split apart, a sea of red splitting in half to form a path for another. Then he saw...
The Ragnar was massive, easily nine feet tall and towering over the others. It’s skin was dark purple, it’s eyes a burning indigo blue. Solid blue, no pupil or iris. The long, vicious fangs and curved claws were dripping with blood and the other Ragnar backed away, staring at the figure with a mixture of fear and awe. But most worrying of all were the marks...It had the scarred tattoos common amongst Ragnar, crude patterns used to distinguish rank. But it had two others that were definitely not of Ragnar origin. Both glowing blue.
“Ro’Kannoth...”
Jowan would have jumped had he been able. Nai’Koth spoke using his voice though it was rougher, hoarser than Jowan would have used and with an indescribable accent. He needn’t have bothered with the name; Jowan could have no doubt of the other’s identity. Ro’Kannoth simply sneered, as though looking at a piece of filth worthy only of contempt. Angered by this, Jowan prepared to attack magically but was surprised when he felt Nai’Koth envelope his mind. Jowan felt trapped in a prison of energy, able only to watch. He heard a whispered apology but understood he was being protected-Nai’Koth was concerned with the development, which was more than enough to worry him.
What he was left observing was a clash of two titans. The hulking Ragnar threw his head skyward with a defiant roar, and as he did two midnight blue lights flared between his shoulders. They grew outwards and spread, forming into the Vestigal’s wings. Distantly, Jowan felt similar wings forming on his own back as the talons at his fists clenched. Then they clashed.
With a yell, Ro’Kannoth charged forwards, strengthening the Ragnar’s claws with electricity. What followed was a whirlwind of blows, too fast for Jowan to keep track off, as the two lashed out, dodged and countered each other. While both combatants had to have suffered multiple blows, there was no evidence; every cut was healed instantly in an explosion of blue sparks, giving them an odd, sparkling appearance. This was not a test of strength in the conventional sense- it was a battle of endurance and will.
Through the window of his mind he caught occasional glimpses of the other Ragnar, though as far as he could tell most had gone, presumably to deal with the remaining resistance. Those remaining though, had simply stopped. It wasn’t that they were watching the fight as their faces were blank; nor did they seem to have any control over themselves, as more than one collapsed as he watched. It was almost as though their energy was being drained away...
Too late did he realise what Ro’Kannoth was doing. With a blow that must have been enough to smash boulders the behemoth knocked the comparatively fragile elf away. The energy he had drained from his own minions gathered around his claws then was thrust out as he sent forth a beam of light as easily as one might toss a pebble. Jowan would have looked away if he could but Nai’Koth stared defiantly at the approaching devastation, then caught it.
Or rather, he seemed to. What actually happened was that he released an identical beam just as he was about to be struck, effectively forcing the other beam back. The two stood locked in position, straining to push an invisible meeting of energy towards the other. Jowan could only stare in awe.
After what seemed like an eternity, the flow of energy seemed to change abruptly. With a twisted grimace that Jowan supposed was an attempt at a smile, Ro’Kannoth began to pull the energy towards him. Nai’Koth was forced to stop his assault before his own energy was drained, staggering back as his foe absorbed the power he so craved.
Again, events happened too fast for Jowan to follow. Without pause Ro’Kannoth started to lunge forward, yet he fell to his knees. Or at least, his body did. Ro’Kannoth himself – somehow releasing himself from his host in a brilliant star of electric light – shot forward like a lightning bolt. Before he could process it, a whispered thought planted itself in his mind -
Kill the host
- and with that he had the strangest feeling of part of his mind being torn free. Falling to one knee, Jowan was shocked to find that not only was he in control once more but his mind was also empty but for his own thoughts and a tiny thread of energy. A thread connected to the shining light that flew forward clashing with its rival.
For a few seconds Jowan could do nothing but stare in amazement. High above the city, two glittering blue suns danced around one another, causing plumes of fire and bolts of electricity every time they touched. It was a beautiful sight, but also a terrible and deadly one.
Jowan was jolted back to awareness by the realisation that he would be vulnerable to attack from the Ragnar. Drawing the same knife he had used to cut the Vestigal’s marks, his eyes darted around for any potential threat – yet he found none.
The Ragnar that had surrounded them lay in heaps, husks drained of all energy until their hearts lacked the strength to pump their wretched blood. The only one showing any signs of life was the one Ro’Kannoth had controlled – his host, to use Nai’Koths term – and even that was negligible. The figure that only moments before had been terrifying was now kneeling forwards, swaying slightly as though lacking balance, The eyes had lost their vivid blue colour and were now completely blank, and a tendril of saliva slowly dribbled down the corner of its fanged mouth. The transformation was shocking.
And yet, it made perfect sense. From what he had learned of Ro’Kannoth, the Vestigal did not seem like the type to share power. Instead he had manipulated his host’s desires to encourage them to perform the Fusion, then once in control forced his own presence on the unfortunate Ragnar’s mind until it was overwhelmed. The result was a perfectly serviceable body with the mental power of a vegetable. Jowan could not help but spare a thought to thank Nai’Koth for not doing the same to him.
He also couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the monster before him. If his sheer size and elaborate tattoos were anything to go by, it was likely that he had been leader of his tribe. But that animalistic hunger for strength made the Ragnar that much more susceptible to the cruel Vestigals control. Still, he knew what he had to do. Forcing his attentions away from the dazzling display above him, he sprinted over to the fallen form and crouched before it. Readying the knife in his hand, he raised his fist then plunged it down, watching the blade bite deep into the creature’s flesh. Into its heart.
But before he could recover from the strike, he was thrown back by a sudden explosion of energy. He skidded across the ground several feet away, but as soon as he began to feel the burns covering his body he felt the return of Nai’Koth and a cooling sensation as they were healed. Still shocked, he offered no resistance as the Vestigal again took control and pulled their body to its feet – yet he could not help but notice that he seemed weaker. He felt an apology from him, not in words but he sensed that he had not anticipated that Jowan would come to harm. It worried him that the Vestigal was so caught up in the battle; there was more between Ro’Kannoth and himself than he had let on.
When they had again turned to face the monster, he was already standing though not paying attention to them. His gaze was focused on the shining dagger still embedded in his chest. As they watched, he grasped the leather bound hilt, tiny in the Ragnar’s claws, and tore it out. The wound sealed shut with just a trickle of blood but Jowan noticed the last of the Ragnar surrounding them fall as it did. A few charred corpses had been claimed by the stray energy from the aerial battle, but there could be no doubt that most had perished simply through sheer exhaustion.
It had taken the life force of at least half of Ro’Kannoth’s army for him to merely equal Nai’Koth.
Still clutching the knife, he dropped his hand and shot a look of what could only be described as pure hatred at his opponent. To Jowan’s surprise he spoke then, a harsh and guttural sound with the same accent Nai’Koth had, but with an undeniable tone of insane rage.
“Do not think this is over! No one can stop me now, least of all you!”
“It need not end this way...”
Nai’Koth spoke with obvious regret. He wanted to help Ro’Kannoth recover his sanity...but why?
Then Ro’Kannoth narrowed his eyes and Jowan felt an icy chill. He had the disturbing sensation that he was being looked straight through, that the deepest recesses of his soul were on display.
Then a cruel smile spread across the Ragnar’s twisted face and Jowan knew he looked upon evil incarnate.
“No...No, it will not end yet...” And with that he simply disappeared, another shadow in the night.
Nai’Koth instinctively reached forwards at the escape but was powerless to stop it. He let out a cry, a mixture of frustration and anguish. Then he faded back into Jowan’s mind without a word.
Jowan was thrust back into control of his body in the middle of an action he had not chosen to make, so ended up stumbling forwards with the cry dying into a gurgle at the back of his throat. He struggled to grasp the situation; he continued to feel the Ragnar’s curse burning inside him, no longer being suppressed by the Vestigal’s presence; the army he had set out to fight along with its commander had abruptly vanished; he was surrounded by the corpses of both Ragnar and elves with no signs of life nearby. Then he remembered his family.
He immediately broke into a sprint towards his home, racing deeper into the city and leaping over bodies without a second thought. Surely some elves had survived, surely –they- had survived, they had to have.
He reached his dwelling in a matter of minutes and slammed into the door, pounding the wood with his fists. When it refused to open he drew back and unleashed a concussive blast of energy, forcing the door off its hinges. Darting inside he began frantically scanning each room, yelling as loud as he could
“Roselyne! Caleb?!” And then he found them.
Hunched inside a magical circle inside his study, Roselyne clutching the boy protectively. Relief burst inside him, they were alive!
No, they weren’t.
He edged closer, afraid to discover the truth. What he saw must have been a cruel joke. Roselyne bore deep wounds over her chest in the distinct pattern of claw marks, her skin was sunken and dry, emaciated. She looked little more than a skeleton wrapped in the flesh and cloths of its former life. In her last moments she had held Caleb in her arms, cradling the dying infant with the knife through his chest. The shining silver knife with veins of black enamel.
His father’s knife.
He fell to his knees, all strength leaving him. He knew what had happened – Ro’Kannoth had looked into his mind and seen his family, then sought to cut it away in the most painful way possible. He had brushed away the magic barriers as though they were nothing then batted aside the protective mother, murdering the child in cold blood then using his energy to fuel the progress of the magic transferred into Roselyne by his claws. He had sought to crush Jowan’s resolve utterly and had succeeded.
He let out an agonised cry then fell to his knees, giving in to his misery.
Soooo yeah. This is about two chapters worth. Hope you like, any ideas/criticisms please tell me, i want to improve it :3
For reference: Kalaiden is basically Silvermoon, Magi/the Circle are the Magisters, sentences in italics are spoken by Nai'Koth, Ragnar are similar to Fel Orcs (imagine them in HD!) and Roselyne and Caleb are Jowan's wife and son respectively.
Kalaiden was alive with a frenzy of activity, though not the kind the city was used to. The Magi had sensed the approach of the Ragnar horde long before the city’s scouts had their first sightings of them. Jowan had awoken from his dream state to find an initiate Magus waiting for him, the boy only a decade or two older than Caleb. He had been summoned along with every other active Magus in the city (those not currently working such as Roselyne excluded) to be briefed on the situation.
The Circle was unprepared for the sheer size of the approaching force. They had expected a roving band, as had occasionally caused trouble for the elves before, but never before had a gathering as large as the one approaching been recorded. The Ragnar were considered little above animals, creatures acting in packs and rarely if ever gathering more than that. And yet here was the proof that that was wrong. The Magi were given orders to prepare anyway they could, for each individual knew their strengths and limits better than any other. The city prepared for siege- something almost completely foreign to the elves.
Now time was running out. They had done what they could- now they could only wait. Soldiers who had never seen true battle gathered at the city gates, armed with long curving blades and round shields, clothed in mail armour and flowing red cloaks. They looked more like a royal guard than a true military force, but such was the way of elves. Appearance and discipline were almost as important as combat capability. Along the city walls stood rows of archers, light leather armour allowing for more fluid movements. Each held a wooden longbow intricately carved with patterns depicting in some way its owner. On each of their backs hung a quiver filled with arrows fletched with red feathers, each one perfectly balanced through magic. Scattered amongst the archers and in greater forces atop the city’s many towers, stood the Magi in their crimson and gold robes. Some stood already chanting softly, preparing spells that would safeguard the host or trap enemies, while others merely waited. One thing was common amongst the defenders; their expressions. Each held fear in their eyes.
Alone atop one of the towers stood Jowan, his expression unique amongst those gathered. His was grim, but determined. He stood facing the opposite direction to everyone else in the city, gazing not in the direction of the approaching horde but out onto the city itself. He took in the visions of gilded walls and masterfully crafted statues, twisting spires and enchanted plants. As the sinking sun glanced over the city, Jowan knew this would be the last time he would see it in its glory. Slowly he turned, casting his gaze into the forests. A dark haze loomed on the horizon, smoke from the trees the horde burned in its advance. It was as though the sunlight suffered as much as the land from the march of the unnatural army, wilting away at its approach.
Turning, he descended the tower and made his way back to the Magus Tower at the city’s heart. Since Nai’Koth had contacted him, he had worked to process the information planted in his brain. The Vestigal’s mind was so alien to any he had encountered before that the task proved more difficult than he had anticipated, but over time he managed to find what was needed. Details for a process called the “fusion”.
The need Vestigals had for energy made it near impossible for them to survive outside their realm, at least for any substantial period of time. To combat this, they were able to literally fuse with a being of the physical realm, sharing in the energy its body produced and feeding off the emotions from it and those around it. However, for a reason Nai’Koth had not revealed, it was a practice almost never attempted. Jowan knew it would entail massive amounts of pain on his part, firstly to wear thin the barrier that separated his world from the Afterlight and then when he himself would feel that other realm as his counterpart became one with him. He knew his life would be forever altered...assuming him or indeed anyone survived the attack. But thinking of his wife and son, it didn’t matter. He would die if they could live.
He almost turned back to his home as he neared his destination, thinking of them. He had eventually persuaded Roselyne to stay with Caleb rather than send him with the other children of the city, to be protected by a group of Magi still within the Tower. He had no doubt that alone she would be far more powerful than all of the guardians combined, for only the weakest in combat had been left to watch over the children. There was an assumption that they would not be needed...or, if they were that it would already be too late.
He scaled the tower, making his way to his study. He sealed it magically once he entered, not wanting any intrusion. Worry had began to worm its way through his mind; neither he nor Nai’Koth knew exactly how the process would affect them, knew only they would change. Jowan feared that he would be unable to help the others, that instead of saving his family he would damn them...but no. The voice like a breath of wind blew through his mind, calming him. What had to be done would be done.
He moved across the room, slipping off the deep blue robe he wore as he did. He let it fall to the floor, moving towards his desk wearing only his blue silk trousers and boots. The cloth would only get in his way. On his desk atop the scribbled piles of notes sat an ornate knife, of fine make. Its blade gleamed like silver despite the dim lighting of the room, and veins of black enamel traced it. As he lifted it, Jowan realised he was shaking so he forced himself to focus, taking deep breaths and steeling himself for what was to come.
He moved to one side of the room, where a polished mirror hung from the wall above a low basin. All magi had such in their studies, due to the sometimes messy results of their practice; tonight it would serve a purpose Jowan suspected was far from that intended. He stared at his reflection, as one might an old photo. His dark eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, his skin a shade paler than normal. Nevertheless, he noted every detail and stored it in his mind- this may well be the last he would see of himself.
He lifted the knife to his left arm, holding it out before him. He made no effort to resist clenching his fist, knowing that doing so would make the cut more painful...something that Nai’Koth had assured him was necessary. He took several deep breaths, adjusting his grip on the knives hilt as he tried in vain to prepare. For a moment he seemed certain he would lack the courage to continue, but then once again he felt the breeze in his mind.
You must now...Too much rests for you to shrug this duty...
The voice was stronger than it had been, clearer. Jowan knew Nai’Koth had been putting all his energy into stabilising their connection, and he would not let that effort be in vain. Eyes narrowing and fists tightening, he quickly drew the blade through his arm.
What happened next passed as a blur for him. He made more incisions in both of his arms, increasingly deep and erratic as he lost his control. Grimacing in pain, he brought the knife to his chest, plunging it in far deeper than he should have. As blood started to pour out, he stared at the mirror, using it to guide his hand as he carved the pattern show to him by Nai’Koth, the outline of a skeletal wing much like those the Vestigal had. He groaned and raised the knife a final time, now soaked in his own blood, and drew the tip over his forehead. He did so lightly, not trying not to damage his skull, but tore through the skin and formed the strange glyph he had been shown. He dropped the knife and staggered back, falling to his knees in the centre of the room and certain that he would die. And then the pain truly started.
He cried out as a terrible agony pressed itself upon his entire body. Like a thousand fires burning his insides, sharp needles being pushed through every exposed scrap of flesh, the pain ravaged him until he no longer knew what happened. He lost awareness of who he was and what was happening, giving in to the raging abyss that was forcing itself upon him. What he felt was the raw atmosphere of the Afterlight, slipping through into him as Nai’Koth did. Just when he thought he could take no more, the pain abruptly vanished as suddenly as it had come. Dazed and in shock, Jowan fell to the floor as the world became black.
((I removed a paragraph here concerning another character because it would take too long to explain them))
Jowan awoke.
That fact alone surprised him as he lay in the puddle of his own blood that now stained the floor. He had been sure he would die, succumb to the terrible pain that had wracked his body and mind...
Peace, youngling. It is done.
He gasped as he felt the presence in his mind. Now they were one, he felt Nai’Koth so much more and was awed by the sheer power of the vestigal. Somehow inside him was a consciousness that defied adequate description, one so ancient and intelligent it showed him how insignificant his own kind truly was. And yet this godlike being had chosen to fuse himself with a creature undoubtedly inferior to itself, yet Jowan could sense the respect it felt for him.
I give to you my power youngling. You shall not age, shall not hunger. You may use what I am as necessary. I ask only that you help me complete my task.
Jowan forced himself to his knees. His body felt weak, unsurprising considering what had happened. Yet as soon as he thought such, he felt a power course through his limbs and knew the vestigal helped him. He could feel Nai’Koth as a presence at the back of his mind, watching his actions but at present not intervening. He rose slowly to his feet and looked down at himself. His body was coated in dried blood, but surprisingly his wounds were sealed. Wiping some of the blood from his arm off, he saw the lines he had cut were now scars, blue rather than white and glowing very faintly.
He had no idea how long he had been out for, but he could hear the sounds of battle from outside. It jarred him into action. Not bothering to clean or clothe himself, he bolted out of the study, running as fast as his legs would carry him down the towers corridors. As he ran past one room, he saw a group of high ranking Magi sitting around a table, talking, drinking, laughing. He didn’t know how they could at a time like this. They ignored their duties at what was undoubtedly the cities darkest hour.
One of them must have seen him as he passed; he heard the group stumble out after him. He realised that Nai’Koths presence must have heightened his own senses and reflexes, for when one of the inebriated elves tried to grab his shoulder he darted to the side with a speed that surprised even him. It was only when he saw their faces that he realised how he must look; a thin, pale man bathed in blood with steely eyes burning in determination. He saw the fear in their eyes, he smelled it.
But his shock at this was quickly overwritten by his short temper. Their interruption irritated him and he lashed out at the one nearest him. The unfortunate man was pushed back into several of his companions, with enough force to throw them all into a wall. Jowan felt a tingle of energy as Nai’Koth fed on their pain, and for a moment guilt pushed into his mind; But then he realised they didn’t matter. None of them did, neither did he. All that mattered now was Kalaiden.
It wasn’t until he got outside that Jowan realised just how badly he was needed. The defenders at the city gates had been decimated, and more continued to fall as the Ragnar flanked them. He was amazed by how organised the horde seemed- While their weapons looked primitive, they were all armed and armoured. He even thought he could see a few archers further back, something unheard of among the beasts. Most worrying of all, he saw several of the Magi atop the towers fall, his augmented vision granting him images of horrific deaths as their flesh seemed to dissolve. It looked eerily similar to the spell originally cast by the elves against the orcs, except this time it worked without fail on each target. This could only mean the Ragnar had spellcasters. While the existence of orcish Shamans was grudgingly acknowledged, the idea that Ragnar had something similar was almost impossible to believe. And that made them all the more effective.
Reaching out with his mind as he had so many times before, Jowan suddenly found himself overwhelmed by the minds surrounding him, forcing him to retreat into his own to recover. Truly Nai’Koth had changed much. Before he had been able to touch a few minds at a time, if he concentrated he could perhaps get a general picture of those close to him. What he felt now was a vast expanse of consciousness, the mind of every one of the thousands, if not tens of thousands of beings within and surrounding Kalaiden. He reached out again, more cautiously this time but was still blinded briefly by the sheer magnitude of thought. Searching carefully, he identified each of the Ragnar spellcasters by feeling the magic inside their brains, then forces his own upon them. Their minds were crushed with energy and he felt their thoughts extinguish one by one as they died painfully.
The rush he felt from their deaths concerned him. He had never been inside the mind of a creature as it died, and had never before felt the pain of life ebbing away. Yet in his new state, he relished it.
Focus
A whispered thought at the back of his mind. And so he did. It would not do to lose control to such a primal instinct, a desire for power. To do so would make him no better than the fiends attacking.
Returning his thoughts to his own body, Jowan was shocked to find himself standing in the middle of a sea of Ragnar. The soldiers at the gates had finally been overwhelmed and the beasts surged through into the city. Oddly, they paid no mind to him, flowing around him as a river would a rock, as though he was completely invisible.
It was only then that he realised he was. Either Nai’Koth, or unconsciously he had cast a spell that rendered him invisible but generated a magical shield around him to prevent him from being touched. He used the moment’s safety to gather his thoughts. The bulk of the cities’ defenders had been set to guard the gates, assuming the thick oak doors would be enough to keep the Ragnar out. However, they had broken through with astonishing ease- as far as Jowan could see the wood had been blown apart. More evidence of powerful spellcasting, not that he needed it. Now most of the soldiers were either dead or crippled beyond recovery. He knew there were a few pockets of them further into the city, but there was no way they could stop the horde on their own. That left him.
You are not alone.
Jowan frowned as he felt the presence in his mind grow, then gave into it when he realised its intentions. What happened was they effectively changed places, with Nai’Koth assuming control and Jowan being pushed to the back of his own mind. To him, it was as though he were trapped in a small room while staring out a window at his own actions, similar to a dream. While not a very pleasant sensation, he realised this was the existence Nai’Koth had chosen. Once again humbled by the being, he settled down to watch what it could do.
The experience was as disconcerting for the Vestigal as for its host, though it recovered far quicker. Pausing only to briefly inspect the body it controlled, it- he, for he was a part of Jowan now- set his power into action. With strength and control Jowan could never hope for he gathered together energy then released it, resulting in a blast wave of blue light erupting from where he stood. The energy had no effect on the surroundings, passing through buildings and even any elves it happened to touch as though they weren’t there. The Ragnar however, were each seared as though struck by a wall of flame. They roared in agony as the flames disintegrated their bodies, reducing them to ash and cutting their screams abruptly short.
That seemed to capture their attention. While more than enough of the horde stayed back to deal with the remaining defenders, the bulk turned their gaze to the small, pale, puny looking figure that held such power. As one they moved closer, forming a circle around their prey as a pack of wolves might-In fact there was evidence that they had an even more powerful pack instinct than the lupine hunter. Without warning they charged forward, as one swinging their weapons and claws.
Were it not for his new ally, Jowan would surely have been killed. As it was, although he received injuries Nai’Koth’s magic healed them so quickly he wondered if he simply imagined them. The Vestigal launched a frenzied attack that rivalled his opponents, encasing Jowan’s hands in blue fire that coalesced into talons much like his own. They tore through the Ragnar with brutal ease, and gradually the horde thinned.
While Nai’Koth fought Jowan was by no means idle. From within himself he had no control over his own body but was still able to cast magic, which he did with effects almost as deadly as his counterpart. With his enhanced powers, he was able to create raging infernos amongst the horde. But he had a problem to consider. While any wounds he received were healed, that did not mean they did no harm- he was infected with the Ragnar’s infamous poison.
Yet it was not poison. Experiencing it for himself, Jowan was able to reach conclusions that had since been hidden. He had seen the effects of it before; the victims own blood became a weapon, attacking their organs until they failed altogether. Only it wasn’t poison, it was magic. Able to study himself from the inside, Jowan could feel it trying to act on him and he saw immediately the similarities between it and the spell used against the orcs. More shockingly, he felt a similarity he had not in all his studies of the magic; he felt the pattern of the spell, the threads that held it together. The intricate pattern that could only have come from elves.
And in seeing it’s workings, it became suddenly clear. The so-called poison was in fact residual energy from the spell that made the creatures, and the altered symptoms something akin to an allergic reaction to the elves’ own spell. But for the Ragnar to have such energy, the spell must have been cast on each of them individually; they would have to have been centuries old to have seen the battle...
Something about Nai’Koth’s feelings jolted him out of his own thoughts. Looking out, he realised the fighting has stopped. They stood covered in a mixture of green Ragnar blood and the red of Jowan’s own while the creatures backed away. Jowan almost questioned why Nai’Koth did not continue but then he felt what had stopped him; a presence approaching.
The Ragnar that remained formed a wide ring around them, the fear rolling off them in waves. Then they started to split apart, a sea of red splitting in half to form a path for another. Then he saw...
The Ragnar was massive, easily nine feet tall and towering over the others. It’s skin was dark purple, it’s eyes a burning indigo blue. Solid blue, no pupil or iris. The long, vicious fangs and curved claws were dripping with blood and the other Ragnar backed away, staring at the figure with a mixture of fear and awe. But most worrying of all were the marks...It had the scarred tattoos common amongst Ragnar, crude patterns used to distinguish rank. But it had two others that were definitely not of Ragnar origin. Both glowing blue.
“Ro’Kannoth...”
Jowan would have jumped had he been able. Nai’Koth spoke using his voice though it was rougher, hoarser than Jowan would have used and with an indescribable accent. He needn’t have bothered with the name; Jowan could have no doubt of the other’s identity. Ro’Kannoth simply sneered, as though looking at a piece of filth worthy only of contempt. Angered by this, Jowan prepared to attack magically but was surprised when he felt Nai’Koth envelope his mind. Jowan felt trapped in a prison of energy, able only to watch. He heard a whispered apology but understood he was being protected-Nai’Koth was concerned with the development, which was more than enough to worry him.
What he was left observing was a clash of two titans. The hulking Ragnar threw his head skyward with a defiant roar, and as he did two midnight blue lights flared between his shoulders. They grew outwards and spread, forming into the Vestigal’s wings. Distantly, Jowan felt similar wings forming on his own back as the talons at his fists clenched. Then they clashed.
With a yell, Ro’Kannoth charged forwards, strengthening the Ragnar’s claws with electricity. What followed was a whirlwind of blows, too fast for Jowan to keep track off, as the two lashed out, dodged and countered each other. While both combatants had to have suffered multiple blows, there was no evidence; every cut was healed instantly in an explosion of blue sparks, giving them an odd, sparkling appearance. This was not a test of strength in the conventional sense- it was a battle of endurance and will.
Through the window of his mind he caught occasional glimpses of the other Ragnar, though as far as he could tell most had gone, presumably to deal with the remaining resistance. Those remaining though, had simply stopped. It wasn’t that they were watching the fight as their faces were blank; nor did they seem to have any control over themselves, as more than one collapsed as he watched. It was almost as though their energy was being drained away...
Too late did he realise what Ro’Kannoth was doing. With a blow that must have been enough to smash boulders the behemoth knocked the comparatively fragile elf away. The energy he had drained from his own minions gathered around his claws then was thrust out as he sent forth a beam of light as easily as one might toss a pebble. Jowan would have looked away if he could but Nai’Koth stared defiantly at the approaching devastation, then caught it.
Or rather, he seemed to. What actually happened was that he released an identical beam just as he was about to be struck, effectively forcing the other beam back. The two stood locked in position, straining to push an invisible meeting of energy towards the other. Jowan could only stare in awe.
After what seemed like an eternity, the flow of energy seemed to change abruptly. With a twisted grimace that Jowan supposed was an attempt at a smile, Ro’Kannoth began to pull the energy towards him. Nai’Koth was forced to stop his assault before his own energy was drained, staggering back as his foe absorbed the power he so craved.
Again, events happened too fast for Jowan to follow. Without pause Ro’Kannoth started to lunge forward, yet he fell to his knees. Or at least, his body did. Ro’Kannoth himself – somehow releasing himself from his host in a brilliant star of electric light – shot forward like a lightning bolt. Before he could process it, a whispered thought planted itself in his mind -
Kill the host
- and with that he had the strangest feeling of part of his mind being torn free. Falling to one knee, Jowan was shocked to find that not only was he in control once more but his mind was also empty but for his own thoughts and a tiny thread of energy. A thread connected to the shining light that flew forward clashing with its rival.
For a few seconds Jowan could do nothing but stare in amazement. High above the city, two glittering blue suns danced around one another, causing plumes of fire and bolts of electricity every time they touched. It was a beautiful sight, but also a terrible and deadly one.
Jowan was jolted back to awareness by the realisation that he would be vulnerable to attack from the Ragnar. Drawing the same knife he had used to cut the Vestigal’s marks, his eyes darted around for any potential threat – yet he found none.
The Ragnar that had surrounded them lay in heaps, husks drained of all energy until their hearts lacked the strength to pump their wretched blood. The only one showing any signs of life was the one Ro’Kannoth had controlled – his host, to use Nai’Koths term – and even that was negligible. The figure that only moments before had been terrifying was now kneeling forwards, swaying slightly as though lacking balance, The eyes had lost their vivid blue colour and were now completely blank, and a tendril of saliva slowly dribbled down the corner of its fanged mouth. The transformation was shocking.
And yet, it made perfect sense. From what he had learned of Ro’Kannoth, the Vestigal did not seem like the type to share power. Instead he had manipulated his host’s desires to encourage them to perform the Fusion, then once in control forced his own presence on the unfortunate Ragnar’s mind until it was overwhelmed. The result was a perfectly serviceable body with the mental power of a vegetable. Jowan could not help but spare a thought to thank Nai’Koth for not doing the same to him.
He also couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the monster before him. If his sheer size and elaborate tattoos were anything to go by, it was likely that he had been leader of his tribe. But that animalistic hunger for strength made the Ragnar that much more susceptible to the cruel Vestigals control. Still, he knew what he had to do. Forcing his attentions away from the dazzling display above him, he sprinted over to the fallen form and crouched before it. Readying the knife in his hand, he raised his fist then plunged it down, watching the blade bite deep into the creature’s flesh. Into its heart.
But before he could recover from the strike, he was thrown back by a sudden explosion of energy. He skidded across the ground several feet away, but as soon as he began to feel the burns covering his body he felt the return of Nai’Koth and a cooling sensation as they were healed. Still shocked, he offered no resistance as the Vestigal again took control and pulled their body to its feet – yet he could not help but notice that he seemed weaker. He felt an apology from him, not in words but he sensed that he had not anticipated that Jowan would come to harm. It worried him that the Vestigal was so caught up in the battle; there was more between Ro’Kannoth and himself than he had let on.
When they had again turned to face the monster, he was already standing though not paying attention to them. His gaze was focused on the shining dagger still embedded in his chest. As they watched, he grasped the leather bound hilt, tiny in the Ragnar’s claws, and tore it out. The wound sealed shut with just a trickle of blood but Jowan noticed the last of the Ragnar surrounding them fall as it did. A few charred corpses had been claimed by the stray energy from the aerial battle, but there could be no doubt that most had perished simply through sheer exhaustion.
It had taken the life force of at least half of Ro’Kannoth’s army for him to merely equal Nai’Koth.
Still clutching the knife, he dropped his hand and shot a look of what could only be described as pure hatred at his opponent. To Jowan’s surprise he spoke then, a harsh and guttural sound with the same accent Nai’Koth had, but with an undeniable tone of insane rage.
“Do not think this is over! No one can stop me now, least of all you!”
“It need not end this way...”
Nai’Koth spoke with obvious regret. He wanted to help Ro’Kannoth recover his sanity...but why?
Then Ro’Kannoth narrowed his eyes and Jowan felt an icy chill. He had the disturbing sensation that he was being looked straight through, that the deepest recesses of his soul were on display.
Then a cruel smile spread across the Ragnar’s twisted face and Jowan knew he looked upon evil incarnate.
“No...No, it will not end yet...” And with that he simply disappeared, another shadow in the night.
Nai’Koth instinctively reached forwards at the escape but was powerless to stop it. He let out a cry, a mixture of frustration and anguish. Then he faded back into Jowan’s mind without a word.
Jowan was thrust back into control of his body in the middle of an action he had not chosen to make, so ended up stumbling forwards with the cry dying into a gurgle at the back of his throat. He struggled to grasp the situation; he continued to feel the Ragnar’s curse burning inside him, no longer being suppressed by the Vestigal’s presence; the army he had set out to fight along with its commander had abruptly vanished; he was surrounded by the corpses of both Ragnar and elves with no signs of life nearby. Then he remembered his family.
He immediately broke into a sprint towards his home, racing deeper into the city and leaping over bodies without a second thought. Surely some elves had survived, surely –they- had survived, they had to have.
He reached his dwelling in a matter of minutes and slammed into the door, pounding the wood with his fists. When it refused to open he drew back and unleashed a concussive blast of energy, forcing the door off its hinges. Darting inside he began frantically scanning each room, yelling as loud as he could
“Roselyne! Caleb?!” And then he found them.
Hunched inside a magical circle inside his study, Roselyne clutching the boy protectively. Relief burst inside him, they were alive!
No, they weren’t.
He edged closer, afraid to discover the truth. What he saw must have been a cruel joke. Roselyne bore deep wounds over her chest in the distinct pattern of claw marks, her skin was sunken and dry, emaciated. She looked little more than a skeleton wrapped in the flesh and cloths of its former life. In her last moments she had held Caleb in her arms, cradling the dying infant with the knife through his chest. The shining silver knife with veins of black enamel.
His father’s knife.
He fell to his knees, all strength leaving him. He knew what had happened – Ro’Kannoth had looked into his mind and seen his family, then sought to cut it away in the most painful way possible. He had brushed away the magic barriers as though they were nothing then batted aside the protective mother, murdering the child in cold blood then using his energy to fuel the progress of the magic transferred into Roselyne by his claws. He had sought to crush Jowan’s resolve utterly and had succeeded.
He let out an agonised cry then fell to his knees, giving in to his misery.
Soooo yeah. This is about two chapters worth. Hope you like, any ideas/criticisms please tell me, i want to improve it :3