Open Chronicles Hunting Gods

[Alaric]

The City of Vellim was famed around the world not for it's size, not for it's economy or what bare trade it could offer, but instead for the marvel it represented to much of the world.

To many it was a wonder built during a different age, to others it was the mark of craftsmen that had long since passed away. Still others claimed that it had been built by the gods themselves, left as a representation of what the world had once been. That it was still being cared for now. The city itself claimed Vellim was home to nothing short of a fallen Goddess herself.

Alaric didn't know what to think and rightly he did not really care.

The massive statues that sat besides the City of Vellim were a marvel to be sure, but he was not here for them.

As much as the beauty of the sitting Angel would have delighted him in his childhood, it now marked little more than a great stone tower or a castle on a hill. As he wandered across the bridge towards the city gates he barely gave the massive statue even a second glance. Others lingered on the walkway, staring, watching as if the damned thing was about to move. "Hm."

A noise echoed from his throat as a pair of children darted to his side, playing a game of 'angel and demon' as they chased one another. Alaric watched them for a moment, touching the satchel on his side to ensure they hadn't taken anything from him. When he found nothing missing the Templar glanced up ahead towards the gate.

He was not here for statues, nor any other marvels of the world.

He was here for a necromancer, a man who had taken up Vellim as his lair.

It was his first task after being raised a Pariah, his first mission after his trials. He could still feel the ache in his bones from where the surgeon had cut, but the pain was a welcome reminder of what he had survived. What he had become.

With a stark determination on his face Alaric marched forward, intent on his hunt.

 

[Hark]

Vellim marked the farthest Ishak ibn al-Athir had ever journeyed from Ragash. Weeks ago he'd put a death cult to the sword in the desert wastes and sworn an oath to Annuk that he would find and destroy their dark master. That investigation had led him deep into foreign lands with strange dialects.

Ishak marveled for a while at the massive stone Angel, seeming evidence of the local claims. He did not find such an idea necessarily heretical. There was room enough in the Annunaki Pantheon for a forgotten lesser deity. Such musings were best saved for another day however so he urged his horse on towards the nearest stable.

There was no obvious sign that anything here was amiss but ibn al-Athir pressed on, heedless of any stares he received over his foreign attire. He relied entirely on divine provenance to place him upon the correct path.

"Your pardon," the native Kaliti speaker fumbled in broken trade tongue.

He'd hardly noticed the pale young man before jostling against him and paid Alaric little mind once his apology was delivered. His attention was instead fixed on crude carvings in the city's stonework. So easy to overlook but Ishak recognized those symbols from the desert.

 

[Alaric]

He stopped as the man clattered into him, his head turning for a second as he noted him. Any other time he would have walked by him, but the man's garb was telling...and an idea immediately formed within the Templar's head.

"It's of no concern." Alaric said as he took half a step back.

The man's garb was of Amol-Kalit. He recognized it from a trip that he and Brellin had once taken into the sands. It was a warriors garb, and that was enough for him. He noticed the man staring at some of the stone-work studying the symbols.

A frown touched his face. "I do not mean to offend, but may I inquire as to your purpose in this city?"

Alaric had been taught politeness by the Templar, it would suit him well here.

 

[Hark]

"I am but a humble servant of Annuk," his words were guarded around the stranger, "I go where he wills it."

Ishak took his first proper look at this pale wayfarer. He didn't seem like a thrall of the dark goddess but appearances could be deceiving. Certainly his pallor reminded the Ragashan noble of a revenant. Nevertheless he sensed that his answer had been insufficient.

"You are from here, yes?" ibn al-Athir could not tell the local garb from that of Alliria or Vel Anir. It was all the same kind of foreign to him, "Do these...scratchings mean anything to you?"

His hand drifted slowly towards the pommel of his blade. Although he feigned a casual interest Ishak scrutinized Alaric closely for any sign of recognition or deception in his eyes.

 

[Alaric]

Alaric shook his head. "I hail from the Ebon Keep."

Some knew of the Templar fortress miles to the north of Elbion, others did not. There was no expectation that this man would, but as always Alaric wanted to strive for honesty. There was no need to tell lies here, not to a stranger or anyone else. He frowned for a brief moment as he looked at the writing.

His eyes narrowed.

Templar studied many forms of language, though this script was as unfamiliar to him as Elvish would have been. His sister had always been the better scholar, and there was no doubt she would have figured out what the writing meant.

"I do not." He admitted with a frown. "But I spoke in hopes you could assist me."

Straight and to the point. "I do not presume you mercenary, but your garb is that of a warrior."

Alaric was making assumptions, but with no friends and an enemy greater than he i tpaid to make them.

"I hunt a man, necromancer." Barely a man really. "I seek someone who could aid me in this task."

 

[Hark]

"A northerner," comprehension slowly dawned on the Ragashan's face although he knew the Gulf of Liad only by name, "My forgiveness."

The sword hand slowly eased from his pommel. Alaric's ignorance seemed genuine, he had a knack for that sort of thing, but it was the northerner's inquiries that kept ibn al-Athir from politely excusing himself. He might have trouble with Common but he understood the word necromancer well enough.

"Annuk guides me to you," Ishak bowed his head slightly, touching one hand to his brow in reverence, "You are seeking the one who consorts with Bel-Ayya. This too is my purpose."

He gestured at the nearby inscriptions.

"Dark omens," he explained, "Our trail is fresh."

But now he was curious. What kind of man, just as much a stranger in this land as he, would possess a shared purpose.

"Tell me truly. What lord commands you to to hunt this black soul?"

 

[Alaric]

He frowned for a moment, trying to mark some of the Gods that Ishak spoke of. He was not well versed in the pantheon of Amol-Kalit, though he knew Annuk well enough.

Alaric cursed himself for not paying more attention to his studies. It was the monsters that had always interested him more, the spells and powers that he would be facing once raised from the rank of neophyte. Perhaps his sister had been right. "The Grandmaster of my Order."

He answered truthfully.

"I am Templar, of the Pariah." Many knew that the Templar had once been one but had long since been split into hundreds of different Chapters. His own famed for their fight against the darker tides of the world. "I have followed the Necromancer here for many miles."

He did not mention it was his first real mission.

 

[Hark]

"Templar? I know of this."

Alaric was the first templar ibn al-Athir had met in the flesh, but many Cortosi crusaders were trained for a time by Radiant Church devotees. He knew of the templars by their fearsome reputation as exceptionally skilled warrior monks although the word Pariah meant little. More than that, the Oasis Brotherhood which had initiated him could trace its lineage back to the so called First Schism although their ancient traditions had been absorbed over centuries by the trappings of Kaliti culture.

"Troubling. A fortnight past I cleansed the desert of dark ones," he offered his own story as fair exchange, "I believe the one we are hunting to be their master."

If both tales were true that meant this dark one...this 'necromancer' as the templar had put it, had a large network of influence. Only the very powerful or very clever could establish such a power base. It was a daunting realization, but Ishak was comforted that Annuk had delivered him an ally who seemed trustworthy to see his work through.

"It is cold..." ibn al-Athir realized suddenly he could see his own breath, "Where have the people gone?"

Urban traffic had slowed to a crawl. Whether by design or merely a subconscious sense of foreboding it was another ill sign. In his experience this could only mean one thing.

Black magic.

"Defend yourself."

 

[Focraig'Diin]

Cold indeed. It was magic of a kind practiced by one errant ice mage.

The mage handed over a full bottle of beer, taking a coin pouch in return. He hated this side job. Acting as a mobile cooling machine dispensing free ice drinks? Not the most glorious of uses for his magic, but it was more a cover job for his actual mission here. A bounty. Not his cup of tea, but after what happened to Elbion, he was forced to take more drastic measures to survive. Only way into that Mage City nowdays was barred shut.

He was here for a necromancer causing a ruckus, his influence responsible for several deaths and disappearances, alongside attacks that were not exactly the norm. (Read, swarmed by undead hordes)

It said it was here, in the city of Vellim, that this black mage had made his hideout. He had originally concealed his own magic aura to avoid detection, but it did not prevent the creep of his cold aura from seeping into the atmosphere. Some could mistake this as a sign of black magic, but Focraig was just unfortunate like that.

He was certain his powers were not a proper matchup for the dark arts, unlike pyromancy. But he had his ways of evening the playing field. Done right, Ice could burn just as well as Fire. He found the eyes of one armored warrior seemingly alert, and waved a hand towards the two.

"Easy there, warriors. If it is a chill you two feel, it is probably my own magic. Unfortunate side-effect, you see."

Making his way over to them as he retracted the icy aura to the minimal amount, he held out a pale hand in greetings. "Ice Mage Focraig'Diin. Call me Diin, for simplicity."

Alaric Ishak ibn al-Athir , May I?

 

[Alaric]

The sword on his hip left it's scabbard in a flash, though he held it for a few seconds as a mage appeared on the bridge. He blinked for a few seconds, a clear distaste floating over his lips as the man spoke of magic.

Fingers tightened on his blade and he was about to open his mouth when suddenly something warped in the air around them all.

Fog wrapped around them in an instant, drawing over the bridge like a curtain and enveloping the two warriors before either of them had a chance to move away. The bridge grew instantly silent, and then a horrid screech suddenly echoed from the right of the Templar.

Alaric's head turned just in time to see a ghostly black figure rush from the fog towards him. His eyes bulged, and the creatures hand swiped towards him only to suddenly disperse and break into a thousand tiny shadows as it struck him. "Shades!"

He called to his knew companion.

Shades were black creatures, summoned by necromancers as ghosts and then twisted with foul magics to do the will of those who had created them. They could not touch Alaric, the Pariah's ritual keeping the magic at bay. Yet to anyone else they were as dangerous as a sword to the throat.

"They cannot take the light of the sun." He called out to his ally as he stepped towards one of the ghostly creatures in an attempt to break apart it's from with a swing of his blessed blade.

 

[Hark]

"Then I will show them the light of the sun."

Ishak ibn al-Athir drew his sabre, falcata-edged blade gleaming as it caught the light. He murmured a righteous prayer and the weapon spontaneously caught fire. It was a supernal flame, seemingly unaffected by the ice mage's chill or necromantic energies.

"Annuk!"

Uttering a single word battle cry ibn al-Athir strode beyond Alaric's protective aura, goading these so called shades into attacking him before driving several back with a few wide arcs from his sword's curved edge. Their unnatural claws sought a way past his guard, and when they finally raked against the Ragashan cavalier's heavy mail it drew a small spatter of blood.

Despite these dire circumstances Ishak was smiling.

"Well met, spell seer," he acknowledged Focraig'Diin even in the midst of battle with a shout, fumbling again over the intricacies of trade tongue and culture shock, "A scribe of Naspar would be most welcome!"

He did not notice a troubled shadow that seemed to envelope Alaric at the mere sight of magic, instead calling freely upon his own divine connection. To him it was all simply a matter of faith. Where the others saw in white and black, so too did Ishak divide the arcane according to Annunaki teachings. Naspar and Bel-Ayya. Two sides of a single astral coin.

 

[Alaric]

Alaric did not pretend to understand the other man's magic, nor did he really see it.

He was unsettled by such thing. The upbringing of the Pariah had settled it inside of him, brought him a deep distaste for those who would use the Spells for their own power. He heard Ishak's cry to the Gods, and he simply hoped that it was they who brought his strength.

The other man? Alaric could only guess.

His blade snapped forward as another one of the shades swept from the fogs and rushed towards him, it's maw splitting open in a wide screech as it clawed and grasped quickly. Alaric moved to the side, his blade sweeping into the monsters shoulder with a single practiced slice.

There was a wisp, a burst, and then suddenly the creature seemed to split at it's seams.

The fog became less thick as it died.