And Part II!
There is nothing better than the hunt for those who blaspheme the name of the Gods.
Though dangerous to hunt heretics alone in this world where martial techniques are such an important part of almost every church and heresy, Haakon is sure that he will be able to do this mission alone. Long had he heard the stories of some form of Infernal Cult operating in this area, and he cannot allow these Heretics to profane the souls of mankind with their vile ways.
Tracking through the wilderness of the Blessed Lands is no real trouble for a man who survived the wastes of Nova Cormata for weeks as part of his Coming of Age ritual. Granted, the salted deserts that presently make up the Coryani Province aren’t quite as. . . otherworldly as what the Blessed Lands have become due to the Elorii and their death curses, but short of one of those freak supernatural storms he should be more than able to handle whatever these Holy yet bedeviled lands can throw at him.
Rounding stealthily around a large rocky outcropping, he sees his target: a small collection of huts surrounding a central building which seems to be the meetinghall. Strange. . . usually Infernal Cults contain more horrors than this place seems to. This place looks almost genial, like a normal village. . .
Shrugging off his worries, Haakon draws his massive flamberge from his back and continues into the small village. Looking around, there seems to be almost no signs of life in any of the huts, with all attention seemingly focused on the central meeting hall.
Moving closer to the door of the hall, Haakon puts an ear, hearing the words within.
“. . . and by embracing the Elements and Our Lady of Life, you too may find solace and peace within these lands which were tainted by those who were too weak in spirit to appreciate what Belisarda gave to them. All you have to do is give up the worship of the vile murderers who those of Coryan and Khitan wish to force your allegiance.” Spoke a voice in familiar Low Coryani.
Elorii? Here? I thought this was an Infernal Cult?!
Shaking himself, Haakon realized the subtext of what is happening. These Elorii—or whoever was within the hall—were speaking a Human tongue, not the lizard-like hiss of their own Ssethric-derived language. That suggested that whoever was inside was teaching their lessons to humanity.
Not needing to hear more, Haakon stands and kicks down the door. Within are probably a dozen or so humans—all with the dusky skin of the Andyar nomads of the Blessed lands—and at the centre of the hall are a group of three humanoid figures wearing hooded cloaks. The one in the centre, and Ardakene Elorii, gapes at Haakon’s sudden entrance.
“I think some explainations are in order, don’t you, Elorii?” Says Haakon, eyes focused on the Elorii.
Looking down at Haakon’s chest, the Elorii sees the Mother Church Rubrick and sneers. Spitting on the floor, he says , “Brothers! It is one of those I warn you of! He has come to bring you away from the salvation that Our Lady has offered all who follow her and the ways of her fallen Elemental brothers and sisters!”
“These souls are not of your people, Elorii. I cannot allow you to poison their minds with stories of your so-called ‘Goddess,’ not if it means that by your actions you deny these people their chance of earning a place at Illiir’s side in the Paradise of the Gods.”
The Elorii levels a weary glance at the Nierite at the door, while the Andyar nomads move to the sides of the chamber. “You wish to stop us from spreading the word of Belisarda to those who can use it? You are just like your interloping Gods. . . always butting in where you do not belong and trying to destroy those who are righteous in the eyes of a TRUE Mother Goddess!”
Raising a hand, the Elorii begins manipulating the Arcanum, muttering something in its own language under its breath. “You Gods destroyed Our Gods, and for that crime they shall be denied ANY followers!” With that exclamation, a bolt of magical energy sprouts from the Elorii’s hand. Ducking to the side, Haakon feels himself being drawn to towards the bolt as if it were a lodestone and he iron filings. At this cue, the other two robed figures snap into action, one grabbing for a bow and the other a sword. The assembled Andyar seem split in their response to what is happening, with a few reaching for daggers on their belts while still others—mostly the women and children—huddle in the corner as far away from the conflict as possible.
Quickly dropping his hand from his sword, Haakon moves his now free hand in the way he has become most accomplished over the past few years, muttering the completion of the complicated cant that was drilled into his mind years ago. Suddenly those within the chamber grab their heads in pain as the Haakon channels the fury of the Gods towards those who wish to blaspheme against them, with the Andyar falling to the ground at the Gods’ displeasure. Even the Elorii—with the exception of the preaching Ardakene—seem to be effected by the castigation he released on the chamber.
Using the moment of hesitation caused by his spell, Haakon returns his hand to his blade and focuses on his inner strength. Suddenly, what appeared to be a normal blade before suddenly erupts in flames as the Holy power of Nier’s blood flowing through him manifests.
Finally drawing near, the Elorii with a sword—now revealed to be a Marokene from the dark skin and heavier build—lunges at Haakon. Luckly, the blade is turned by the armoured breastplate of his Royal Lorica, but not before he is winded. Taking a step back, Haakon is able to block the following blow on the blade of his own sword, before regaining his focus. Pushing past the Elorii, Haakon takes a mighty swing of the six-foot blade.
Dodging out of the way, the Elorii moves beyond the reach of the mighty sword facing him. Meanwhile, his two allies have not idle. The air is broken by the passing of an arrow, missing Haakon’s face by mere inches, while the priest casts another spell at him. Unable to dodge the eldritch bolt, Haakon feels the brief sensation of weakness and fatigue common with those who try to use the God’s power to weaken someone’s bones in hopes of landing a more telling blow, but Haakon is able to fight the Priest’s feeble attempt to enchant him.
Taking the opportunity given by his alleys, the Marokene lunges in yet again with his blade, striking Haakon on the side of his crested helmet. Throught he ringing in his ears, he can hear the tang of the bowstring once again, but again the arrow misses him. Once again muttering words of power, Haakon focuses all his energies and divine fury towards the Marokene before him. Channeling a spell into his blade, the fiery sword is enveloped in the crackling energy of the Gods as it strikes the Marokene clean in the torso. With the power of the Gods augmenting his already powerful blade, the flamberge cuts deep into the torso of the Elorii before him, almost completely cleaving him in two.
Moving to remove the blade from the Marokene’s body, the third arrow finally finds purchase, striking Haakon in the right shoulder. Yelling in pain, he dives to the side, throwing his cape up to obscure his form while the Elorii priest throws a knife his direction. Luckily, the motion involved allows Haakon to remove the blade from the sundered body, and he briefly takes position behind one of the small wooden chairs which the Andyar were so attentively listening to the Elorii heresy upon.
“You shall not leave here alive, val’Virdan. You shall meet your gods in the oblivion which they are deserving!” Yells the priest, as he once again attempts to cast his vile magics upon him, shattering the chair in front of him, causing Haakon to duck away. From a half-kneeling position, Haakon mutters again in Altheran as he reaches his uninjured hand to his chest, pulling—as if from nowhere—a pair of fiery balls, throwing them at the two remaining Elorii. The archer, obviously more dexterous than the priest, deftly avoids the shot, but the priest does not. The ball of fire, though not big, is more than enough to burn through his robes and scorch his torso.
Unable to reach his blade, Haakon moves his hand to his side can invokes Nier’s name, causing a crackling stream of embers to erupt as he grunts in pain. Any time you try to channel the energies of the Gods, or any of the forces of the Arcanum, too fast, you must pay penance for the overuse of their powers. However, the pain is enough to bear, and from the embers in his hand crackle a to form a bright sword which immediately burns even brighter as his blood heritage empowers the spell even further. Seeing his chance, Haakon charges.
As the archer struggles to grab another arrow from their quiver, the priest notices Haakon coming just in time to bring a dagger up in an attempt to drive it into his chest. However, the priest is obviously not a warrior, and Haakon dodges around the clumsy thrust and drives the fiery blade straight through the Priest’s chest.
Just as another arrow strikes, lodging itself in the rib just below his already injured arm. Wailing in pain, Haakon swings wildly at the nearby archer, causing the figure to dive away. Taking a moment to regain his balance, Haakon prepares to swing again when he sees the face of the Elorii who has been shooting at him.
“Stormy?”
The Osalikene stares at him from behind determined eyes. “Yes. It’s me, Val.” Using his hesitation, the Elorii drops her bow and unnaturally quickly draws her blade, slicing upwards in the same motion.
Catching her blade on the fiery sword, Haakon pushes her away out of reach. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends.”
“We are just as much of friends as anyone can be with a traitorous Val, Haakon.” Making another lunge towards Haakon, he parries her blow once more, though only narrowly.
“Oh,” she continues, seeing the pain and betrayal on Haakon’s face, “don’t look at me like that. I never made my dislike of your people a secret, so you shouldn’t be this surprised to see me trying to undermine them!”
“But why?! You have fought by my side for years now.”
Snorting a laugh, the Elorii circles. “Yes, I did. I even enjoyed the experience on many occasions, but now is time for my people to bring some of their own back against you and your ilk.”
Using her words to try to goad Haakon to action, she quickly moves to strike against him. Unfortunately for her, Haakon was not as distracted as she had hoped. While her blade managed to bite into his arm, his own sword clubbed her in the side, flinging her lighter frame into the nearby wall. Moving to defender herself, Stormy notices her sword has been knocked from her hand and she dives for it, coming within inches when Haakon’s sandaled foot comes down hard on her arm.
Turning upwards, Stormy looks as the wounded Haakon, holds his blade above her head, ready to plunge it in. “Please, Haakon, do not kill me. I’ve saved you enough times to have earned that much!” Stormy says, looking for a way to at least delay the fall of the blade as she feels for some escape or defence.
Waiting but a moment, Haakon’s expression hardens. “Let Nier’s Will be done.”
And he drives the blade into Stormy’s throat.
* * *
Suddenly, breath filled his lungs again.
No longer was Haakon in the Andyar hall. Once again he was back in the courtyard of the Temple of Nier in the First City of Man, laying in a pool of his own blood. Gasping once more, Haakon’s hand raises to the stinging, burning sensation on his neck where the Pyrman had drawn the anointed blade. Instead of feeling the severed arteries and tissues caused by the blade, he instead felt a fresh scar where the blade had previously slit him.
Detecting movement to his side, he opens his eyes revealing the High Priest. Examining the wound on his throat, the Pyrman stands and proclaims. “Brothers, Sisters! He lives once more!”
With a collective gasp of surprise, the crowd of acolytes and priests break out into somber applause. Helping Haakon to his feat, the Priest raises his arm above his head. “Haakon Marcus val’Virdan, son of Marcus Gaius val’Virdan, son of Gaius Tiberius val’Virdan, you have journeyed from this world to the very edge of Beltine’s Cauldron to be Judged by His Own Judgment. And here he is, healed from his mortal wound by the Judgment of Nier himself!
“From this point on you, Haakon Marcus val’Virdan, are to be counted on the rolls of the Holy Judges of Nier as one of their numbers. May none ever question your dedication to justice and the Gods after this day.
“In Nier’s Name!” Intones the Pyrman.
“In Nier’s Name!” replies the assembled acolytes and priests.
_________________ Cody Bergman Legends of Arcanis Campaign Staff Initial Author Contact/Adventure Vetting
Haakon Marcus val'Virdan, Divine Holy Judge of Nier Ruma val'Vasik, Martial Crusader and Master of the Spear Jorma Osterman, Arcane Coryani Battlemage
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