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poodlemiester -> RE: An imperfect tale of Shadretha (10/2/2012 20:17:24)
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The sorrowful history of a great hero
In the beginning there was peace, there was safety and there were friends. Ruserik always had a talent with a blade, be it a pole-arm, an axe, or a sword. And while everyone recognized his considerable talent, no one ever suspected he might ever rise to the glory of heroism. The young boy was brought up on the rolling plains of the south. He had often looked over the great expanses of grass lands and would often go on explorations with other young friends. They would sneak blades from their father's rooms and go out to go slay wild boars and other such things, often boasting of who stuck the biggest pig. It was on one such occasion where the tranquility of his life was so irreversibly shattered. Him and his friends Animus and Gerald were out "spying" on the disused White temple.
Once long ago the temple had been a place of harmony and balance, though in recent years it had fallen out of use as worshipers of the elements began to distrust one another, eventually leading to the advocates of flame destroying much of the White temple. After that violent betrayal from within the 8 elemental sects splintered off, never again to pray under the same roof.
After a few hours it began to darken. "It's a little early for dusk, isn't it?" asked Gerald. "Yeah, we should still have an hour of light, at least" Ruserik answered his friend. "Well I don't wanna get caught out here by one of those plain stalkers that are rumored to lurk in the shadows" Animus said while eyeing the bushes surrounding the 3 teenagers.
As the 3 young explorers made their way back to their village they saw tendrils of smoke escaping from the rooftops of the huts. As they got nearer they heard the screams of women and children and the echoing yells of men.
The trio shuffled along the outskirts of the town to see if they could see what was causing the havoc, and after a few moments of stalking the bushes they got their answer. Tens, no, hundreds of undead warriors were swarming their village. In the middle of the fray a large flowing mass of shadows stood, blasting men with unholy magic, a manic laughter escaping it's pitch black maw. Animus let out a low moan barely able to utter "They have my dad surrounded."
It was at this point that the other 2 boys realized their families were somewhere in that mass of bone and blades. "We have to go in there, my little sister and mother could be killed!" Gerald weakly whispered. "But the paladins could already be on their way!" Ruserik said, trying to encourage his two disheartened comrades. "Do you actually believe that?! We are in the middle of the plains, help is no less than a hundred miles away!" Gerald cried. Maestro could hear the sadness in his friend's voice and knew what he said was true. "Gerald is right, Maestro. We have to go help, even if we die, we have to try to save those people!" Animus whispered. Maestro couldn't tell if it was bravery or fright in his ally's voice. "Alright, we have weapons, and at least we should be able to help our friends and family get out of there."
"On the count of three we run in there and kill those undead monsters surrounding my dad, then we go search the houses." Animus announced. "And why does your father get to be saved over my mother, or Gerald's sisters?" Ruserik spat at his comrade. "Fine! You go save your families and I will go save my dad by myself! I don't need you two wimps anyway, I always killed the biggest boars." Animus said with an air of superiority. "Then quit talking about it, you big-shot and go kill that lich and his monstrous servants!" Gerald cried. "Then I will!" and with that, Animus stormed off into the burning village. He didn't get but half way through the battlefield before falling over on his back, an arrow straight through his right eye. "NO!" was heard from somewhere in the chaos, before it too was silenced.
"By the Creator... can we really save anyone? The skeletal snipers could be anywhere, we could die within seconds." "What choice do we have at this point?!" Maestro said frantically. "Yeah... I guess I just don't want either of us to end up like Animus did" Gerald said with a shudder. "Very well, I think it is best that we both go get our families and meet where we usually set up camp out on the plains, don't wait for me, it's far too dangerous around here." Maestro said. "See you then, good luck!" Gerald yelled before running into the maze of smoke and undead warriors. What will become of him? Will he die like so many others have? I must have faith in him and follow his example. Ruserik sprinted through the smoldering rubble of the place he once called home, ducking under the heavily nicked blade of a once dead combatant, running his blade through another. As he approached his small abode his worst fears were realized. Smoke was pouring out of the entrance, which had been left ajar.
NO! Ruserik screamed in his head, his mouth failing to produce the desired cry. He ran to the house and lunged into it. What greeted him was a sight worse than he could imagine. His mother was dead, her skin devoid of color and her lips blue. Hiss sister was floating some 2 feet off of the ground, her very soul being drained from her body by the foul magic of the undead caster standing before him. He let out a piercing scream before charging into the dark caster, decapitating the malefic being that had been leeching his sister's very life force. By the time he had dispatched the monster though, it was too late. "Why... WHY?! There's no truth in it!" Ruserik cried.
He knew he could not stay though, so he ran back out on to the field, fueled by the wrath he had just gained from seeing his helpless sister being ruthlessly killed by that.. that... monster. He reached the center of the battle swinging his sword with reckless abandon. That is when he got his first good look at the bringer of this misfortune. levitating over 4 feet off the ground the lich towered over him. In his hand the foul creature held a black skull etched with numerous runes which pulsed a foul crimson. His voice was similar to the sound that of rolling thunder and his laugh akin to the crack of lightning. There was obvious enjoyment in the creature's voice as it struck down the helpless townsfolk. "Oh look at this intrepid boy! So young, so frightened, yet still bent on saving his family. Well i'm sorry to inform you, but only the dead will populate this village by dawn!". Maestro looked over just in time to see Gerald get lifted off of the ground, and with a bright flash of blue get sent back some 10 feet, silent and still. Gerald's family still tried to run though, and at seeing this the horrific being let loose a vicious yell. "Do you not know who I am? I am Maximus, the twilight harbinger!" He promptly dispatched of the woman and her young daughter the same way he had killed Ruserik's ally. After a few moments of battling the noise had settled down considerably, which Maestro had tried to think of as a sign that victory was close, though this hope was soon dismissed once Maximus cried "Yes! Soon none will be left but the dead!"
Ruserik fell to his knees in exhaustion and despair. He had tried so hard, fought so selflessly but would the creator still have him killed today? It was hopeless to fight on. Maximus could rip his very soul from his body without so much as a thought, and recollecting, it was a miracle he hadn't yet. As Ruserik rose to meet his fate he was hoisted up by two powerful gauntleted hands and thrown into the brush surrounding the ashen buildings that once made up his village. He saw bright flashes of light and the gurgling cry that could not be mistaken. Maximus was being hurt. From in the village he heard the thunderous voice of the lich scream an ominous warning "Soon Greed will walk Shadretha once more, and blanket the world in perpetual darkness!" The next thing he knew he saw a round object hurtling towards him. He couldn't move in time and was knocked unconscious with a hollow *clunk*.
It was bright. It was bright and his head hurt. Maestro struggled to get to his feet and view his surroundings. At first he looked around his feet and picked up an aged human skull. So this is what knocked me out last night... He thought with a wince of agony. His head was throbbing. When he turned to the location where his village once stood there was nothing but embers, ash, and a few low burning flames. Oh, and bodies. Twice as many bodies as there were people living in the town the day before. In the very center of this warzone there stood a glowing stone with an impressive claymore protruding from it, veins of darkness creeping up from the stone, slowly consuming the weapon.
"Hey, kid!" A deep voice sounded from behind Ruserik. He jumped and almost fell over, before turning around swiftly to see a truly grand paladin standing before him. With the gold detail of his armor glinting in the morning sun and his eyes burning with righteous might he looked like he could fight an army and come out on top. "Uh... hey" was all Ruserik could manage. "Your lucky I got here when I did. My name is Gerrard, and if you couldn't already tell, i'm a paladin." He said with a hint of enthusiasm. "Yeah but if you got here about 4 hours earlier, that woulda been fine too..." Ruserik muttered, glancing back at his home, his friends, his family all covered in debris and ash. "Just be glad your not in there with em'. Trust me, I know its hard, but once you've seen what this world has to throw at you, you learn to take it in stride."
"Well... what do I now? My family and my friends... and my home are all gone." Ruserik said weakly, glancing back at the ruins which had once been his home. "Well you could come with me, I'm heading up north, i'm actually heading out towards Sorinsport, I've been summoned by the guardians of Azashor and traveling can get lonely, I wouldn't mind having someone to share the journey with."
As the two set out to a local creek to fill their canteen Ruserik brought up what the lich had said before being slain. "What did it mean... that Greed would walk Shadretha once more?" "Oh, the deities of the Old pantheon were rumored to once walk the lands, legend goes that they were all sent back to the lesser voids by the Agents. Now I don't know if that's true, but there are still cults calling themselves "Avaricites" who devote themselves to Greed entirely. it's best not to dwell on such things, but I will warn the guardians of this omen." And with that Gerrard fell silent for the remainder of the excursion.
And so Ruserik set out to Sorinsport, not knowing what to expect and with nothing to lose. Pledging to safeguard the world from this enigmatic "Greed" should his return to Shadretha come to pass.
Travel was slow through the rolling hills of the southern plains, and seeing nothing but grasslands for days on end was taxing for the two adventurers, but with each other for company they managed to make it through the plains and out into the marshlands of Sorin minor, known as the middle lands by most common folk due to it's geographical location.
Though parts of the marshes were relatively dry, the duo were often forced to dredge their wagon from the foul muck, ultimately losing one of their 2 mares to the unforgiving terrain. Beyond the muddy obstacles travel was smooth in the respect that the thieves who notoriously stalked the swamps only tried to get the best of them once, with Gerrard teaching them a lesson they would never forget.
After 3 days' travel through the damp midlands of the human kingdoms they came to rocky moors, which Gerrard told Ruserik was a sign they were drawing closer to their destination. While there was less mud there were far more predators, with coyotes stalking the ridges and drakes swooping in from above, trying to catch wary folk off guard. At one point on this final leg of the journey the sun was blotted out by a massive form and Gerrard shoved Ruserik beneath an overhanging rock. After a few minutes of scanning the horizon Gerrard informed him that the creature had passed. Upon asking, the paladin answered "It was a dragon, and a massive one. It seems to be moving to a location, rather than hunting. But... how could it possibly be coming from the sea? There's no land but for a thousand miles out there" Gerrard murmured glancing over the rocky highlands towards the massive expanse of water which extended out towards the horizon.
After over a week of travel, Gerrard called to Ruserik "Look over yonder, the walls of Sorinsport" Beckoning with his hand to the north. What Ruserik saw was the most impressive sight he had ever laid his eyes on.
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