BSS RPG -- Story

'Thank you, 'tis kind... and if the mead does the job, there is naught else to ask.'

I inclined my head, reminding myself to somehow repay the unexpected favour. And if I waited for her to take the first bite and drink the first draught, well... call it a habit.

'So... I take it you do not usually travel accompanied by... whatever our glorious leader is?', I whispered. We seemed to have little in common, but, as they said, one never failed to form a bond while talking of some unfortunate third party. And, lest that question should seem too presumptuous, I followed with another, 'You live here, then? Unless, of course, you know of some spell that would summon a stove?'

Zarak turns towards Nakia and Runa.

"One of my hiding caches is nearby. We could stop there and rest, if you want. It would be wise to gather our strength before tackling the army of damned souls. It will also give me time to properly prepare the broken obsidian into Soulgems."

"Lead on,m asked one and do you have a name we can use other than masked one?"

Taking a bite of the cae and a swig of the mead I smiled at Runa.  "Just met this person shortly before you appeared.  I have a cottage a few hours from the Stones near a small village.  Stove spells are not part of my repertoire although I can whip up a nice camp fire."

"I am Zarak. The cache has a camp fire, and I also have a small cache of dried meat and fruits."

The trio walk for several more minutes, arriving close to a river.

"Down this small creek. Watch out for the rocks, they can be slippery.

Ah, such a nice walk, nobody is posturing anymore, and we all gave our names like civilized folk should. I wonder how long will that last. Well, what betrayals may come, at least he does not want to break our necks on the bloody rocks.

'Zarak, was it?', I began, nonchalance seeming a good choice to disguise a meaningful question, 'You seem quite at home here. A... peculiar mage, you must be, to make such a place your domain. One can only imagine how different it is from, say, your country of origin?'

Zarak looks at Runa, but does now narrow his eyes.

"I did learn a tidbit of the Arcane arts, but I primarely am a Druid, a Shaman, to be precise. I used to be part of the circle of the Raven, far to the North. I left the Circle after my death and rebirth as a Shaman. These woods have been my home for several years now."

Zarak scrounges through his backpack, and takes out a wooden pipe. He stuffs the pipe full of greenish-brown herbs, and takes a big hit. He then extends the pipe to Runa.

"Shadeleaf. A traditional herb used by my Circle to soothe body and mind."

Well, my friend, if that was a "tidbit", then I am a sirine. And peace of mind is the last thing I need, given the circumstances. I knew of such herbs, ones I believed to be similar at least, black lotus and sage, and ruth. If there was aught they had in common, it was the way they made one act unpredictably.

'Your offer is not unkind, but do forgive me for declining. Such... things, ah, how sentimental they make me. And trust me, you do not want to hear all fourty verses of Hathrun's Glorious Death.'

Perhaps Nakia would like a taste of whatever the pipe contained, and then, with the minds of both companions properly soothed, I would be able to get some straight answers.

We came at last to a small valley. On it's slope stood what seemed to be a shelter of stone, it's rocks the colour of ashes.

'Is this the place?'

I smiled and declined the mind bending herb saying "Such things are dangerous for me to use.  Dangerous more to others than to me."

Mind bending herbs free the wild magic within me. I have spent years learning to control it and know the havoc it can cause all too well.

Following the other two I wondered about the things Zarak at said.

"More for me, then."

He finishes the contents of the pipe completely. Grabbing his backpack, he looked at both Nakia and Runa.

"I shall go prepare the soulgems and commute with spirits. The process should take a few hours, there should be some rudimentary beds in the cache should you wish to get some sleep.

Exiting the cache, Zarak turns into a raven, and flies away in the night sky towards a small island in the nearby sea.

I observed the shapeshifter's flight. The sight was worthy of a song, for it was as if some part of the surrounding darkness fought it's way out of the thralldom of oneness and, having acquired a will of it's own, rushed towards liberty. Then a memory came to me, of a glorious night of blood and slaughter, and a pair of red, beady eyes watching from a distance. A good omen. But no. Surely, that is not possible.

'Looks like we're on our own, then', I turned to Nakia and smiled, 'Do you think he has a kettle somewhere in here? We could boil tea, Gods know there is snow enough here for that... and I've leaves... Just plain ones, mint and sage - not the one that makes one rave, the regular kind. And we'll need flint and such, anyway.'

I set my travelling sack down, and looked through it's contents, babbling on all the while.

'Where did I put this...? Book... different book... regular cloak... potion... fine cloak... gold... torn and disgusting cloak... ah! There it is', I announced, proudly presenting two small pouches.

Were I to translate this monologue from Common to Honest, I suppose "Look at how non-threatening and friendly I am" would be the closest possible equivalent. There was somewhat about her that put me ill at ease, especially after that last comment was made. "Dangerous to others", indeed, in spite of her friendly demeanor. There was a riddle unsolved here, a question unanswered, and most of all - there was power within her, burning like a brand. I could but sense a spark of it, but that glimpse alone revealed something vast, terrible and barely contained.

"A simple tea would be nice.  I can light the fire, plenty of wood here.  I see a kettle and some cups over there."  I flicked my hand at the wood placed for a fire and it burst into a gentle flame.  Placed the kettle filled with snow over it and settled down near the fire.

As the tea was brewing I turned to Runa.  "It seems we will be traveling together for a while so it is time for some honesty.  I am a wild sorcerer but over time I have learned to control it rather than have it control me.  My kind are feared and hated by most humans.   "

I stopped speaking and have a feeling a dark cloud passed over my face and my hair may even have given off those bloody sparks.  Then I continued it was seldom I could speak of myself to others with any truth.  Runa may have human blood but she is an ork and although they do not welcome me they do not fear me as humans do.  

"When my magic first manifested at a young age my parents almost killed me.  I escaped and more by luck than talent survived long enough to develop my magic and learn how to handle it.    I do not brag for the fact that I have survived more years than normal humans is a testement in itself.  Wild sorcers either die young or become strong."

I stopped and just stared off into the darkness the pain and anger for a moment strong within me.  It still hurt after all this time.

The tea was ready and I filled two cups placing them for Runa to choose first. I did take a sip from the laddle as a sign of trust.

I sat down by the fire, let out a long sigh and chose a cup. Well, one of us shoots sparks like a Kara-Turan carnival, and the other is sporting golden tusks. We are bound to achieve great things together.

'I thank you for your honesty', I spoke at length, looking at her through the flames, 'And aye... it seems that whenever one is to be harmed, there is none like blood-kin to do the job. 'Twas similar with me, for I was tribe-raised, and marked from infancy for a role I had no wish to fulfill. You are set apart by your power, and I by my very blood, but we are both strangers whenever we go, eh?'

There would be time for other questions later. And I found it more cruel a fate to have one's otherness etched upon their face for all to see than in their soul, well... such was life, and it was a bad time for mentioning such differences. Nakia found it within her heart to become a protector of the nearby village. There was kindness in it, or perhaps some great guile; I found the latter more probable, as it seemed unlikely that this woman would display such naivete and sentimentality.

''Tis chilly. Would you like a cloak?', I asked, giving a crooked smile, 'I have more than enough of those.'

"The tea warms me but when we find the bedding a cloak woul be nice, I thank you, Runa."

I wondered what dark songs she could sing. Songs even darker than mine. We were different but had things in common. Was her soul as drenched in blood as mine? I could see her scars could she see mine? I found myself enjoying the rare sense of companionship with another person.

The sound of flapping wings is heard. Zarak returns to his human form, and enters the cache.

He sits by the camp fire, and takes out a round, smooth obsidian orb.

"This orb will take care of the legions of souls trapped within the stones. And Runa, I have something for you."

Zarak draws a blade with a curved blade, roughly the length of a long dagger, made out of bone. The pommel has a gem incrusted within.

"I had been meaning to give you this, should out paths cross again. We have met before, whenever you remember or not."

He hands the blade to Runa, holding it by the blade in an odd display of trust.

'I... had doubts. But I have not forgotten. Thank you.'

How could one forget such a night? I was but six and ten, half mad with grief and longing and solitude. A bloody heart, still warm and beating within my hand, and this... presence, a flicker of dry amusement and perhaps, recognition. I inclined my head, mindful not only of the gift, but also of the manner in which it was offered. If there was artifice in this gesture, I could not find it.

'You have given me a weapon. In return, I shall kill your enemies with it'. A customary orcish response, this, a promise from a warrior to a chieftain, and appropriate, as it seemed that he would be the one to lead us. Unlike many other such oaths, however, this one I actually meant. For the forseeable future.

The bone was blackened in places, the hilt smooth to the touch. I closed my eyes, for a moment, to better hear it's tale. The memories within spoke of agony and horror, yet amidst it all was a reminiscence of that peculiar moment in suffering that lays all truths bare; of that glorious glimpse of clarity just before the mind crumbles to ashes and succumbs to madness, like iron burned for too long within the furnace. Whoever died for the creation of this dagger was a worthy enemy before he became a victim. Was his strength to guide my hand, so I could better carve out the next heart?

'We have met indeed, if briefly', I explained to Nakia, lest she should suppose we tried to hide somewhat from her, 'There was a... skirmish, many years ago', my choice of words was cautious yet true, in a way, for some of the humans did fight back, 'One that a certain raven watched from afar. I was not sure until I saw Zarak change his form.'

There was much to be done tomorrow, and much more to think of... I reached into my bag, and handed Nakia the cloak. 'Twas warm and practical, if only second-best, woven of brown wool. The other was a costly affair of heavy, black cloth, lace and silver thread. I liked it, for it had a hood, large and sagging, and helped to obscure one's features. The noblewoman it belonged to would have little use for courtly garments, now, as shrouds would serve her far better.

'I would offer you the other one', I jested, adressing Zarak, 'But I fear it would not suit you, embroidered roses, lacy trimmings and all. For now, I bid you both good night.'

I gathered my belongings, and went in search of a bed.

I was impressed with the orb Zarak brought back.  It also reinforced my idea of the strength of his magic.  This was one to be very wary of, to not antagonize.   I would follow him because those Stones had a strong hold on me otherwise I think I would have fled the scene.  Death will come to me but I do not go seeking Death.

His gift of the blade to her and their discourse on an earlier meeting was interesting.  I appropriated her explaining more to me as that in itself was an act of trust dare I say of friendship?  No!  beware that thought sorcerers have no friends only allies for a brief time.

I thanked Runa for the cloak, it suited my chosen garb well, simple and unobtrusive.  I bid them good night and sought my bed .

"You will find the beds behind the vine curtain over there. I will remain here, to meditate."

Zarak fills up his wooden pipe with some more Shadeleaf. He pulls his hood up, and slowly puffs away at the Shadeleaf.

Zarak slowly delved into a deep sleep, and has dreams of his home. He dreamed of the day where he could return home... shed this ancient mask, and most of all take back his hometown and rebuild it, better than ever... to lead the Shadovar in a new Golden age.

My dreams were of the past; shards of old memories reflected and twisted, like images in a shattered mirror. A talisman of woven hair, red and brown and black and gold. A thrown stone. That first sword of steel, and the man I have killed for it. Waking up was a relief.

Light, grayish yet and uncertain, reached the far side of the stony shelter. I stood up, carefully, and looked about.

Well, I am alive and still very much in the possession of my soul. Here's to companionship. I wonder if anyone else is up...?

Zarak awakes from his sleep, and lets out a long, forlorn sigh that the dreams of his empire were just dreams.

Extending his arm, he grabs a small sack of dried blackberries, goji and various mixed fruits. He also grabs a few strips of dried meat.

As he chews the dry, tough meat, he packs another pipefull of Shadeleaf, waiting for his guests to awake.

I fell asleep easily and remember no dreams. Awakening I saw that Runa and Zarak were already up and awake. Moving the bedding out of the way I saw the store of dried fruit and meat. I chose some of the driend fruit saw the fire had burned down to embers and added some wood which quickly caught fire naturally. Taking the kettle outside I filled it with clean snow then replaced it on the fire.

Runa, do you have more of that tea? I am no druid or weather witch but it looks to me as if the day will be overcast. There might even be some snow.

Fire is fascinating it can be so destructive and yet so friendly. I often use it to aid my own form of meditation and it soothes and gentles my mind.

'I do. Here you go. And it's nice to see us all safe and whole this merry morn', I quipped, for but a day ago we were all on edge, ready to attack each other in a heartbeat. Life among humans cured me of naivete long ago, and I was not quite ready to let my guard down completely... and, to tell the truth of it, I was not sure I could remember just how to do that. But it was comforting to know that suspicions of immediate danger would not interfere with the quest we were about to undertake.

I cast a glance at Zarak, for it seemed that Nakia and I caught him during an unguarded moment. But I never saw a man who looked as wistfully at the day, indeed. I did not know the warlock well enough to read his expression. Longing? Sorrow? Or just some melancholy, nostalgia for the darkness of the night that just passed?

'This... matter with the souls', I spoke, adressing both companions, 'How is it done, if I might ask? Capturing them, I can understand, and I have known shamans to make spirits their thralls. But to absorb them completely... What sorcery is this?'

Zarak grabs the obsidian orb, looking at it.

"I am not one who likes opening up... but since we are in this together, and live and die by each other... I guess as a gesture of goodwill it would be the right thing to do."

He turns to Nakia

"I can feel in your gaze that you know I am not of your world. Your assumption would be correct."

Zarak covers his face with his hand, and the mask he wears seemingly vanishes. He removes his hand, exposing a face that would be considered very handsome, were it not for Zarak's hardened expression and palpable aura of evil. A large scar runs from his forehead over his left eye, ending shortly under his nose. Zarak's skin is pale, true to one who has dwelled in the shadows his entire life, and he has black hair and a black beard.

"My home is the Shadow Plane. I was forced to flee my home when I was a young adult... our entire plane was nearly destroyed by ancient enemies. And through my communion with the spirits trapped within the Circle of Stone, I discovered that a fraction of those souls are Shadovar... my bretheren, my kin."

Zarak looks at the obsidian orb again.

"Before we tackle the army of souls, I will need to commute with them one last time. My bretheren are trapped in torment and suffering... and I want to see them finally find peace."

"They will bind to my own soul, lending me their power. I will use the orb to trap the other souls, and once they have all been trapped in the orb, my kin will sacrifice their power, binding it with mine. Doing so will destroy them... but it is a price they are willing to pay for the small hope of seeing the Shadovar empire rise again, someday."

"Once I wield the combined power of my kin, I will summon an ancient Shadovar spell, devised by the Black Flame... the legendary coven of Warlocks who trained me. Explaining the process would be long and tedious, but in short, the orb will gradually shrink to nothingness, crushing the souls to nothingness, and extinguishing their sparks forever."

I was startled by Zarak's appearance whatever I had expected it was not this and I burst out "Why you are quite handsome."  Then felt a fool.  I turned my attention to the orb.  "The Orb is most impressive and there would be no point to explaining your magic to me."  

I glanced at Runa then said "I am a wild sorcerer I cannot learn magic from others it is bred in me, inmate.  I have learned to control it."

For a moment memories stirred at the edge of my mind but I pushed them away this was not the time to swell on the past and what could never be.

Another plane. It seemed obvious, now, a thing I should have realized before. Yet that was the one answer I did not expect, just as I have failed to guess at what was hidden beneath his mask. An anamorph of beauty and Death, a marble effigy of a cruel, powerful god; made all the more poignant by the scar, that one imperfection that marred his visage. Were things different, I would write you songs. But they were not, so I schooled my expression into stillness.

A gesture of goodwill, or a practical solution you devised upon realizing that Nakia would sooner or later find out on her own? This discovery was bound to be made; why not turn a foregone conclusion into a grand display of trust? But I remembered the conversation of yestereve, and how he grasped the dagger by it's blade. And after that, I recalled another evening, long ago, when too much faith in an act of kindness nearly became my undoing.

'As I said, I have known shamans... if none of them like you. Yet it appears that some things are always the same. Under every sky, there are dire needs, and dire sacrifices. A wise and strong people, yours must be, to accept a final end so. Most... would cling to whatever semblance of life they still had, however worthless.'

If he is telling the truth. Perhaps those bones were ones I could speak of, as well, and sense whether or not they have agreed to such a fate. I had no lofty concerns about what would become of the dead. To know if there was artifice in this tale, however, would be most useful. If I could find it out secretly.

There were, as it always went with such things, many more questions. The answers for some I would ask directly, come the right moment; most of them, though, would have to be gathered piece by piece, augured from uttered words, furtive glances and even silence. Nakia told me of how she ran from her blood-kin, aye, but has her flight ever ended? Why this village? What could possibly compell a sorceress to stay in such a godforsaken place? And as for Zarak... what is this talk of empires?

I wondered whether I should ask Nakia to elaborate, yet decided against it. It would not serve to evoke painful memories.

'I thank you both for explaining. Shall we be off, then? This... prospect of an adventure... I must admit it has made me quite impatient.'

The trio arrive to the circle of stones.

“I will take it from here."

Zarak smokes one more pipe of Shadeleaf. He then sits on the altar, in a meditative position. He holds the obsidian orb, and closes his eyes.

“By the Black Flame burning in my soul... by the blood that runs through my veins... I call forth the spirits of my Shadovar ancestors. Come to me, my kin, my bretheren... bind your essences to mine, so that at last you can be freed of your torment.”

The ground rumbles, and 33 ghostly shapes emerge from their prison, and enter the obsidian orb. The orb begins to crackle with crimson thunder, which intensifies. It spreads to Zarak's body in a fraction of a second. Zarak grunts repeatedly, wracked with pain. The crimson thunder slowly fades.

Zarak makes the obsidian orb levitate in the air. He begins to chant a spell in ancient Shadovar. The orb glows, and begins to siphon the legion of trapped souls, and grows in size at it does. When the last remaining soul is trapped, Zarak unleashes crimson thunder at the obsidian orb, which slowly begins to shrink.

The legion of trapped souls collectively screams in pain in a deafening symphony. The orb shrinks and shrinks until it is barely visible. Zarak invokes the Black Flames once again and superheats the now tiny orb, who shatters.

A deathly silence reigns on the Circle of Stones. And, slowly, a stone stairwell emerges from underneath the altar.