Athural the Untouchable
Weapon Master: standard (rank 1)
“Sire, if you choose to return home against your sage’s best judgment, please be tempered to what you will find. I cannot descry the proper usage of wordage to distill to you what must be told. Therefore, let me be thoroughly blunt – your kingdom has been sacked. Upon your return, you will find that the hordes of Neral have burned down the surrounding villas. Your knights fought bravely. Nevertheless, it was to our surprise that the Sleeping Giants of C’ral had joined forces with the armies of your enemies. They swept through your realm like a child with so many play things. You may also query as to the whereabouts of the great Omm during these catastrophic moments. I request that you first build a strategy for entering your kingdom before questioning my whereabouts or that of your daughter. Your kingdom is aware of your former epoch as a barbarian. All is known how you conquered your way to the throne. I more than anyone know that you are not a man to sit idly by while your world crumbles around you. But I must beg of you, please do not ride full force into the kingdom trusting in the might of your hammer or your men. Anon, I fear you will not heed my advice…”
Lord Athural road full stride towards his former Kingdom of Ka’Hazan. Riding with him were four of his finest warriors. As he neared his territory’s wall known as Shev’lGate, he noticed the raging fires on the other side. The fire did not match the inferno growing in his weary heart. Orc bowmen awaited him from the precipice of the entry. His two bowmen were quicker. As two of them spread out to divert attention from the king, they were steadfast and well aimed. Their arrows hit home. His horse continued to charge forward with an unearthly fury. He was a man possessed. Other orc guards outside the gate rushed to stop the rampaging king only to be met with the force of hooves or the cudgeling of hammer. Back and forth he swung unerringly striking down any who would oppose him. Quickly as he charged, one of his men riding the rear threw a ladder to the gate. Soon after deploying the ladder, the soldier lost his life to an opposing arrow. An orc glanced at the maddened warrior-king beginning to climb the steps. An alarm sounded at the recognition of the returned lord. The orcs bundled together to focus their attack at the king only to be met with a thunderous hammer strike…
Crushing Weapon: superior (rank 2)
“If you are to ride in haphazardly into battle (which I am sure you will do) m’ lord, then I prays your mighty hammer, Svirfneblin’s Wrath ring true…”
With a crack, the hammer stung the brick wall of Shev’lGate. The orcs pressing against the wall tumbled to the Earth as the cinderblock and slab gave way beneath them. The other orcs were quickly perforated by an impossibly fierce flurry of arrows from the warriors below. The king used the momentary commotion to pull himself to the top of the gate. The massive king stood at a staggering 6 feet 6 inches. He towered over the dying orcs surrounding him. It was here that the change in the heart of the mighty Athural the Untouchable took place. His faith in any sort of reconciliation of his home rushed from him like water through an open palm. As he briefly surveyed his land, he saw the true horror of it all. Giants played amongst the burning town. They devoured screaming women and children. Orcs rummaged through homes, drinking and fouling everything they touched. And worse, the castle…his castle had turned into a frightening unnatural spire that pierced the heavens. Madness. It was obvious even in his heightened vehemence that the king could not take the direct approach.
Reflection: standard (rank 1)
“Remember the hidden passageway, sire. I abhor the thought of a king resorting to such unpleasant means, but if you are to be obstinate in your approach, remember the hidden passageway to your throne room. Lesser kings than you developed this duct for just such an occasion. Please in this instance, take the path of least resistance. It will lead you directly to my sanctuary. Hopefully, I will be able to meet you in the hidden chambers. But be wary, m’lord, for fearsome beasts lie in the underground.”
Athural leapt down from the castle walls ignoring the nearby secret passageway to the undergrounds for the time being. A bit of revenge was in order. Knee deep in squalor and filth, Lord Athural made his way to his castle. “I will not be denied my vengeance vermin.” His voice boomed. He meant for all the looming beasties to hear him. His men, seeing his rage made their way to the top of the castle walls in response with their bows in tow. As he crept forth warily, the sounds of spattering water and flittering feet could be heard nearby. Just outside of his peripheral, he noticed something moving presently. Orcs surrounded him in every direction. Athural beamed. Leaping forward, several of the Orcs made for a sneak attack. Hefting his hammer high into the air, Athural brought it down with a mighty collision. As the Orc’s rusted corroded weapons hit Athural’s armor, an unseen force also sparked forth from Svirfneblin, the Lord’s potent hammer. The force sent Orc warriors slamming into nearby walls. At the same time more rushed in, disregarding the strike. Their weapons crossed, but in a similar manner as before, the kinetic force of impact sent their weapons flying from their hands. With massive strikes, Svirfneblin’s mass met with collapsed ribs and crushed skulls. “Know thee well, fell villains that the hammer of Lord Athural is thrice blessed. Now, come and dance the dance of death with me.”
Athural advanced on more than a few Orcs that made their way to the battle. His steps however were drowned out and met with the thunderous stomps of something far larger than he – a Giant. Maddened as he was, Athural was no fool. His decision was made; he would make haste to the nearby underground passage. But first, he would have to remove the giant’s foot that had found its way unto the passageway’s entrance. With a roar, Athural pulled back his hammer and would lunge it forward. It hurtled through the air at the giant. The colossus laughed, raising a large thin shield of metal and leather. Meanwhile, Athural lumbered forward like a raging rhinoceros knocking aside Orc after orc that had dared mass before him. The hammer hit the shield of the giant who leaned in to brace for defense. Upon contact with the hammer, the shield exploded sending splinters of metal into the eyes of the giant. The giant howled in anger, grasping his bleeding eyes and face. Meanwhile, Athural leapt into the air, catching his hammer and rolling towards the passageway’s opening that had now been made perceptible due to the giant’s bumbling. The Orcs confused, rose to their feet. The other giants in the region, alerted by the howl of their brethren made way to the site. The giant that fought against Athural however, was blind. It fell to its knees covering the secret entrance once again with its knees as the small army searched frantically for the little king that had long since passed through the hidden path.
the Sword of the North
Slashing Weapon: supreme (rank 3)
As the king climbed down the narrow stairwell to his wizard’s hidden chambers, he felt suddenly awash in panic. His mind raced. What would he see? What had happened to his daughter? Omm was always aware of his presence before; where was he? What lie on the other side of the door? Putting the anxiety aside, the king silenced any trepidation and sturdied himself with his former emotion…fury. With a push of his hammer, Athural splintered the wooden opening to the chamber. Climbing up, he realized he was in the right place. All over the room were strange devices, mythical creatures encaged and smoking burners, beakers and strange tools that the king did not recognize. It was definitely Omm’s lair. He paid little heed to these things; pressing forward in search of his sage advisor.
“If you enter my private chambers and I am not found, m’lord, then the worst can be ascertained. Alas, my time in your service has expired. If this is so, look unto my wardrobe. There you will find a sword. It is now that I must inform you of the true nature of the events that have befallen you…”
Athural holds the sword firmly. It is majestic, indeed. With a cadence, the king sways with the sword in assessment. It is perfect. The weight is perfectly distributed in his hands. In his palms, it glows with a calming aura. Above its hilt is a placing for three gems. The gems are beautiful, however they glow with contrasting radiance against the glow of the sword itself. The king squints at this incongruity when suddenly a voice whispers behind him, “Father…”
Reflection: standard (rank 1)
“Let it be known sire, your daughter, the Lady Jes’lica is dead. To be more accurate, your daughter was never alive. Not in the sense we understand anyways. Sire to put it plainly, your daughter was but a vessel. She was like an empty chalice and that chalice filled with a most dire libation and lamentably that libation has overflowed and spilled unto your world, poisoning all in its wake. Sire, our realm is in its autumn and the leaves of change have begun to fall. Alas, I word this dismal tragedy too eloquently. That girl is not the gentle breeze that blows the autumn leaves, indeed she is an enraged blizzard. She is a force of nature that will sweep the slate clean. In my studies, I have found the text that explains her being. She is known as Raya Sayang. She is primordial. Look for my text. You will find them wrapped around the hilt of the sword. The sword itself is a gift from my friends of the Fae Kingdom of the North. You can thank Fairy Ravenna if we live through this. It is magically enhanced like the mighty hammer you currently wield. If you find the girl…do not hesitate. Kill her…”
Lord Athural turns swiftly to find a nightmare before him. Quickly he pockets the text and raises the weapon. Standing awkwardly in his wake is his little girl, covered with blood and holding the head of his former wizard. He shudders violently at the sight and struggles not to collapse in lunacy. The pre-teen girl is but a shadow of the young girl he remembered. The gems on the crystals burn fiercely in defiance to the young girl’s presence. Immediately she digs into his mind and the room spirals out of control. Without warning the room is filled with dogs, then butterflies. Athural is flying, he’s falling. The girl explodes, reforms. Shatters like glass. He’s laughing. Crying. Confused. Nonsense. Chaos. Her mind. His mind.
“…Is strong. You have always been mentally adept m’lord. I always thought that if you had put your mind to it, you would’ve been a great wizard yourself. With that said, please do not fall sway to her chaos. Use the sword, it can deflect a little of her madness. Like the blinding hurricane of your fighting technique, bludgeon the girl with the sword’s power. Combined with the fortitude of your own strong mind you should be able to fend her off just enough…”
Raising the mystic sword in rebelliousness, the king focuses his mind on one thing…anger. He closes his mind and focuses his rage. The entirety of the sword burns with the matching shade. With a closed mind, the warrior-king begins his death dance. Just as his hammer crushed the orc creatures from before, his sword commences in shattering the maddening illusions around him. The little girl laughs, and then screams…
Dance of the Fairy People
Combat Supremacy: standard (rank 1)
The sound sends the king flailing into an adjacent wall. Blacking out briefly, his ears begin to bleed slightly. Quickly, he comes to. Opening his eyes, he becomes aware that his world is yet again upside down…literally. The room is no longer a room, but has gone ajar in an Escher-like manner. Athural nearly retches as he realizes he has gone tipsy turvy. In a distilled moment of displaced clarity, he clutches the sword resolutely. It seems to feel him with vigor. The chamber comes alive and commences to assault him like a living thing. Nimble, the warrior-king traverses the labyrinth with sprite-like agility. With hammer in one hand and the sword in the other, he fends off the brick and block projectiles that attack him. The unsettling balance of the two massive weapons would’ve befuddled another man. The mystified room should’ve exasperated him. But it was not to be so. As the little girl walked lightly about the room seemingly oblivious and in her own little world, the warrior-king encroached upon her agilely maneuvering through the labyrinth as if it were of his own making.
Pariah - Lord of Order
Environmental Awareness: superior (rank 2)
“Forgiveness m’lord, but if this entity overwhelms you and you feel you will succumb to the chaos, I leave you with one option. Use the text. There is an incantation on the back of the manuscript. If you should feel that you will fall to this thing, please do not hesitate to use this passage. It is of Fae tongue, to which I have taught you the basic fundamentals. It is ancient and it may be your only hope. Call upon the magic within the sword and the wording. Escape. Where it will take you, I don’t know. But it will take you somewhere safe. It will take you somewhere throughout time and space where this Raya Sayang will be weakest. Use this opportunity to find likeminded associates. Establish an army. Find her while she is weakest and strike early before she can rise again. The crystals within the sword will guide you. Trust in the sword. Trust in yourself. I beseech thee, take heed to all that I have told you and fare thee well, m’lord and sire…fare thee well.”
The warrior-king closes in on the dark child of the spire. With sword drawn back deeply, he plunged forward without hesitation to kill the being that would be his daughter. His mind focused and his heart sealed against regret, he launched the enchanted blade deep into the entity’s chest. It quivers, jolts and then slowly turns its head, smiles and disappears. The chamber abruptly shifts back to normal. Swiftly, Athural negotiates his way to the floor of the chamber. He sighs and falls to the floor. “Father.” A voice repeats. His eyes jolt open. His senses become awash in insanity as he peers around to view a panorama of Raya Sayang. It is too late. Her power has grown too strong. Hundreds of likenesses of the girl begin to fill the room. They are everywhere: the ceiling, the walls, the floors, the windows, in his face…everywhere. Athural begins to hyperventilate. “Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father! Father!...” The entities repeat over and over again. Athural falls into a fetal position. He is tired and worn. He has fought for ten years; witnessed the death of his Queen, his armies, his people, he has been made aware that his daughter is actually a primordial entity seeking naught but psychosis. Near insanity, he reaches for the hilt of the sword. He pulls the text of Omm from a hidden compartment in the hilt, unfolds it and reads:
“Unasae! Vasata Yldannan. A'Laena Sar”
The room flashes a blinding white. When Athural opens his eyes, he is standing in front of a towering structure: standing, not fallen. The skies are blue, much in contrast to the blackened skies of Ka’Hazan. His senses are immediately overwhelmed by an immense array of sights, sounds and smells. He gawks at the enormity of the structures in his surroundings. Nearby, a man screams something in a horribly unfamiliar language, “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!” Not a man of many words, he utters to himself in disbelief, “Omm by Orphi’l’s beard, what have you done?” Before he can adjust himself even slightly, a man of substantial girth much like his own appears before him with a young lady in tow. Their uniforms are outlandish by lord Athural’s standards. Athural looks down and notices the crystals in his sword are glowing again in the calming aura. It is comforting to say the least. These are friends, he thinks. He takes console in this new fact that the sword can detect friend or foe. This is good. The large man before him peers at the strangely dressed Lord of Ka’Hazzan, but doesn’t look perplexed. As a superhero, there is not much that surprises. The wizened, hulking man that arrived on their doorstep is nothing too out of the ordinary for an SLJ. “Hello, I’m MegaTon. This…” He points at the young woman beside him, “…is Grey Widow. We are Sentinel’s of Liberty and Justice.” Athural merely frowns as their meaningless language escapes him. “You are standing in front of local Khazan’s SLJ headquarters. How may we help you?”
The greeters seemed friendly enough. The sword trusted them and that was good enough for him. At this point, Athural would’ve liked nothing more than to leave the outdoors that had assaulted his wits. He was yet tired and worn as well. There was much to discuss and a language barrier to pass. But first, rest. He smiled, placed his fist across his chest and kneeled to one knee in an unprecedented token gesture of Ka’Hazanian gratitude. He bowed his head and thought about his past life: a life that he knew he must leave behind. King Athural and his throne was no more. He thought hard and spoke with a slightly bitter voice, “Call me Pariah…”