C1 "Ethegra..."

"Ethegra The Fallen"
(WC 4363)

Tannis was a simple town, nestled gently among the rolling hills near the Sinzakij border. Like other settlements, a small temple marked its center and the few simple homes clustered around it as though it were important. In actuality, most of the townspeople ignored the temple entirely, going about their daily tasks with little fear. Although they lived very close to the borderlands, their neighbors, the Ortakij, had a longstanding peace agreement with the Sinzakij. The combination of frequent Red Mage patrols and friendly neighbors both ensured that the people of Tannis felt little desire to concern themselves with the needs of their deity.
Only a few people ever entered that sacred building, and those that did were only just barely citizens of the Sinzakij empire. Certainly they had been born Sinzakij, but since their earliest childhood they had been raised as priests within the walls of the temple at Mount Isteray. There they were taught to commune with the gods and perform mysterious sacred rituals which meant very little to the commoners who would one day surround them. The temple at Mount Isteray was located deep within the Ortakij lands, far away from any Sinzakij influence, making those priests which chose to return to their birthplace more citizens of the Ortakij empire than servants of the Sinzakij. Though there was no animosity borne between these kingdoms, the priests still seemed to be little more than outsiders to the occupants of Tannis.
Nobody really knew how the temple worked or what its real purpose was. It seemed that temples had been around for as long as anyone could remember so it was likely they would remain around for as long as anyone could imagine. All of this was very inconsequential to the townspeople of Tannis. The priests did whatever they did and everyone else found them not so very difficult to ignore. The temple was more important than the commoners were accustomed to recognizing, this much was clear to Chulon as he stood silently and looked over the town. Something about the temple was an attraction, a focal point, and it was about to change Tannis violently, just as it had changed many towns before it. In the distance the sky darkened, confirming his prediction.
Chulon was a powerful man, larger than most at six feet tall and visibly trained in the physical. Many years before he had decided to make a change in his life by focusing on physical ability. He had enlisted in the Sinzakij army as a soldier and quickly rose through their ranks with his natural skill and precision. For the Sinzakij, a soldier's life was an easy one. Wars and battles were fought far to the north where the Ortakij lands bordered the wastes of Celeukra. Were any real threat to make it far enough south to threaten the Sinzakij kingdom, there were hundreds of Red Mages who traveled the land providing an additional measure of protection. Soldiers only trained and participated in contests, sometimes dreaming of the glories of war, but mostly only relying on the bounty of the kings provision to ease their way through the days.
This was not enough to satisfy Chulon, who soon left the king's service in favor of the warrior's life. Free to offer his services and considerable ability wherever it was most needed, Chulon traveled immediately northward to lend his aid in the battles fought by the brave Ortakij. There he found an equal match for his skill and honed it further on the battlefields of Celeukra.
The wily clans of Vechtazul hurled themselves against the stout defenses offered by the Ortakij in some vain hope of breaking the border that separated the wealthy south from the distresses and anarchy of the north. At first Chulon had found this struggle amusing aside from its raw benefit in strengthening his abilities. The feeble efforts of the clans were no match for the well trained precision that guarded the Ortakij from invasion. History told a different story, though, something that warned the Ortakij to remain ever-vigilant against the efforts of their enemies. Many years in the past the clans, a joke to the hardy Ortakij, had engineered an unexpected and devastatingly effective series of attacks. The great offensive pushed the Ortakij border south hundreds of miles to the southern edge of Celeukra. The Ortakij eventually stopped the push from the north, but the attacks were a dire setback to the king's desire to eventually conquer and annex the troublesome northlands.
The wastes of Celeukra were a hard land, difficult enough to control when the Ortakij border had extended beyond them. The king stubbornly refused to abandon the capital city of Guervin, though it had become separated from the rest of his kingdom. He commissioned an enormous wall to be built along the new border, granting his armies some respite from the relentless attacks of the northerners and consolidating his power so that he could protect the capital city and maintain the new border without risking more loss. Though the Ortakij were successful in quelling the onslaught of the northern tribes, too much had been lost to forget the potential power that threatened their lands. It had been a sobering time in history that served to solidify the vigilance of the Ortakij armies.
Chulon knew enough about these events to stifle the ridicule in his heart as they fought the desperate northerners. Power and precision were the lessons he learned from his battles in the north. His successes were for a purpose, though, as he was soon to find out. It was the darkening of the sky that he would always remember.
It was subtle at first, just a chill change in the air that seemed distant and unrelated. Chulon was on a routine patrol with his unit. The whole of the Ortakij army was divided into small sections all organized under leaders who reported to higher leaders. His immediate leader was a woman, Katarine, who was kind and friendly to her men, jovial whenever the occasion allowed for it. Their patrol took them from the shore of Lake Insa eastward to the town of Batene. It was a good day, clear and bright. No attacks had come for weeks which was a rare respite for the Ortakij. Their commanders were turning their thoughts toward expansion once again, seeking to seize any opportunity to begin taking back pieces of Celeukra. Katarine was riding far ahead, obviously enjoying the beauty of the summer day.
Celeukra was a strange place. Legends spoke of a time when deep magic had been sown into the land, changing it into the desolate region that impeded their conquests northward. Somehow fantastically Celeukra had once been a fertile land, ideally suited to support the thriving lives of the clans. But when the Ancient Kingdom had pushed northward to overtake Celeukra, the clans had reacted bitterly, sowing death into the once healthy soil so that nothing would grow there for centuries to come. It was the sickness of this desperate act that had stopped the Ancient Kingdom short and defined such a large barrier between the southern dynasties and the chaos of the north. It made for a good story, but Chulon was not sure how much of it he really believed. Still, as he watched Katarine saunter along admiring the flowers and trees growing along the wall of the Ortakij, he couldn't help but wonder at the strangeness of the land which very suddenly changed from green and alive to the patchy, desolate and dusty waste only a few hundred feet from where they walked.
Chulon's contemplative stupor was mirrored throughout his unit. So they thought very little of the distant darkening of the sky, allowing their minds to believe it was a simple storm blowing across the land. But now he would always remember its unnatural persistence. Its oppression.
The darkening continued, soon followed by the cacophony of unkempt magic. The earth under their feet began to split and shake, throwing the men off balance. The darkened sky coalesced into a threat and then a promise of devastation as shrieks of lightning began riddling the land around them. Fires erupted chaotically, burning some where they stood. Katarine shouted orders to the men who spread out. Chulon crouched in a patch of weeds, beginning to recognize signs of something he had feared for the whole of his life. Chaotic, powerful, unchecked magic was the sign of a demon. Confirmation followed this realization swiftly as a dark figure moved suddenly into view.
The mages feared demons who were said to be what mages themselves became if they gave into the lusts magical addiction. As Chulon watched his comrades run in fear and pain, burned and harassed by the power of the demon, he felt suddenly helpless in his training. The fears of his past had taken shape and it was a horror to behold. Nonetheless, unwilling to die hiding in the grass, Chulon mustered himself to the fullness of his ability, grabbing hold of his blade and reminding himself that the demon was naught more than a man who could be made to bleed and die like the soldiers around him were.
Chulon was both fast and agile, a fearsome opponent on the field of battle. He was well suited to the task of quelling attacks by warriors from the north. But a demon was a different matter. Carried away by the stream of magical power, demons were imbued with a speed and awareness that Chulon could not yet match. Truthfully, Chulon had no hope against such an adversary. But as he hurled himself at the beast, another attacker came briefly into view charging and feinting circles around the demon with a speed and precision unlike anything Chulon had witnessed before. This, too, he had heard of – the Laethecna. A lost art which celebrated the highest forms of physical prowess. Chulon hurled a feeble slash at the demon, which it deflected with ease, tossing him to the side. But the other attacker now held its full attention.
Chulon rolled to his feet, preparing to strike again when a streak of blood sprayed across the ground in front of him and one of the demon's arms dropped limply to its side. Screaming in pain and anger, the demon surrounded itself suddenly within the intensity of a magical firestorm, sending waves of flame outward, scorching everything around it. Chulon leapt backward intimidated by the incredible heat and force of this attack. But the Laethecna was unfazed by the fire. Chulon slid down into a nearby shallow ravine to avoid the heat and watched in amazement as the Laethecna inflicted blow after blow upon the demon, swiftly and fluidly, always careful to avoid the creature's direct attacks. Then it was over. The demon collapsed to the ground and its magics faded away instantly as the Laethecna landed the killing blow at last.
Free of the fire's influence, Chulon stepped forward from his hiding place to take stock of the destruction and death all around. The Laethecna had come to a stop, standing over the fallen demon and breathing calm, measured breaths. He hair had fallen loose in the battle and it suddenly dawned on Chulon that their savior was his own leader, Katarine. Undaunted by his own pathetic performance, Chulon was instilled with a new hope upon witnessing the next level in physical training. The Laethecna had taken the power of the physical and turned it into an art form: every movement a stroke of beauty, every moment one of absolute clarity and control. It was the precision of this art form that could overcome the power of the demon. Demons were unfocused, roiling with more ability than they could ever know how to handle. Their aggression had taken over their reason, leading to the madness of their attacks. That exposed their main weakness. It was control that they had abandoned, and it would be control that would defeat their reign of terror.
So Chulon had trained under Katarine and many others, honing his ability until the fears of his past could be left behind forever. He devoted himself to Laethecna, becoming a renowned demon hunter as he moved away from the now simple life of the border patrols. Once he had surpassed the abilities of the warrior, slaughtering desperate attackers from the north became distasteful to him. It was no longer a battle for him, no longer a risk when he stepped to the line. Everything was calculated and premeditated in his actions so that his enemies could not possibly stand a chance against the ferocity of his ability. But this transition also made him feel more like a murderer than a defender, turning sour the taste of his formerly noble work for the Ortakij. So he had devoted himself to travel and training, further refining his abilities by making opponents of evil men only, matching his premeditated justice against their premeditated injustice.
Now here he stood, silent and hidden at the outskirts of Tannis, awaiting the arrival that the darkening of the sky foretold, preparing himself patiently for the struggle ahead. Demons, once a rare occurrence, had begun to show up more frequently in recent days. Chulon had tracked many across the Ortakij and Sinzakij lands. They seemed universally intent upon attacking town temples, a coincidence that angered Chulon's suspicions. He had tracked this particular demon for a few days now, from its inception which had apparently occurred while one of the White Mages was traveling homeward from the Ortakij capital of Guervin. Somewhere along the line something had snapped for the mage and everything had digressed from there. Chulon was not so concerned with the creation of the demon as he was with its destination. He had preceded the creature steadily since hearing of its existence, seeking out which town it would choose to attack. This one had moved straight toward Tannis with unmistakable intent. It was here in Tannis that Chulon would put an end to its madness.
Just as suddenly as always, the demon appeared at the edge of Tannis and the sky above deepened in darkness severely. Chulon moved from his lookout to a shadow cast by a nearby building. Townspeople scattered as the demon immediately began to lash out. Chulon shifted his position silently, breezing unnoticed past some fleeing peasants and moving swiftly through intermittent waves of fire and earthquakes. He paused for a moment as the demon continued its march toward the center of the settlement. Chulon guaged the demon's movement and ability before dashing in for the first strike.
The first strike was all-important. It would establish the pace for the entire battle, Chulon knew. Most opponents did not realize the importance of their first attack, putting themselves at an immediate disadvantage. Chulon's strike was calculated and quick, carving a shallow gash under one of the demon's ribs as Chulon came across its front before disappearing to the other side. Now he had its attention and the demon paused in its march for a moment, looking for its attacker.
Chulon watched with satisfaction as the demon healed the slice across its stomach unthinkingly. Magic, like any ability carried with it a cost. Endurance was important, even for mages, who trained incessantly to increase their capacity for the sustained use of magic. Battle wounds were easily dealt with by masters of the power, but healing carried the cost of distraction. Enough blows against even the unchecked power of a demon would eventually wear its capacity for magic down until it had nothing left within to draw upon which could save it from that final killing blow which Chulon was even now planning.
The demon responded to Chulon immediately by focusing its power in the last direction it had seen him travel, causing a building next to it to explode into debris and shrapnel which filled the air around them. Chulon moved in again and again, though, switching his angle of attack rapidly to compensate for the demon's angered strikes.
The ground around them was scorched and black, rocks and debris flew about as the demon threw blow after blow at Chulon. But he stayed ever focused and vigilant, watching the movements of the shrapnel and spinning, ducking and dodging his way effortlessly through the maze of defenses that the demon was creating. Again and again he struck, hoping to keep the creature occupied, but this demon's capacity for magic was amazing. Again and again it healed itself, snaking fire all around and hurling boulders endlessly. Home after home suffered the wrath of their battle as the demon struck with more and more stone, thatch and wood.
Endurance was the key. Chulon stayed focused, adjusting his movements and planning his attacks with breakneck speed. In and out he dodged and feinted, piercing the beast with blow after blow from his blades. He exploited the demon's unfocused weakness to his advantage, misdirecting its attacks and spinning confusion all around his attacks. Again and again he struck with ferocity, consumed by strength and power, wholly reliant on the stream of physical power to fuel his onslaught.
Another rock sang past his head as Chulon rolled in low to the ground and cut up from the demon's ankle once to its calf, circling around behind and slicing across the back of it's knees. Then he regained his feet and leapt forward across the demon's other side, shoving a blade through its lower back until it protruded from its side. He left that one there as he circled around the front again, sundering its waist from hip to hip with a cut that would have spilled the intestines of a lesser opponent before he curled his momentum around in front of the demon, dodging a rock and a blast of fire as he ducked back in the direction he just came from. He struck the demon again at the shoulder as he moved back behind it, retrieving the blade left in its side with a brutal yank that opened its side briefly. Chulon moved through a sudden cloudburst of dust at the demon's side, protecting his eyes as he jumped into a strong gash upward through the back of the demon's armpit and shoulder. He brought that strike down again across the back of the demon's neck as he jabbed his other blade ruthlessly into the creature's back before ducking under its other flailing arm and around again to the front for another attack.
It was then that he allowed himself a glimpse of his opponent's face. Though he saw the expected rage and frustration in the demon's eyes, it was the face as a whole that suddenly gave him pause. He recognized the man behind the crazed raging exterior of the demon. It was a face he could never forget. That brief moment of recognition was his undoing, though, as the demon struck out again and caught Chulon full force in the chest, sending him spinning through the air with dizzying pain. Chulon crashed into a small monument that served as the center of the town square, sitting directly in front of the temple. He slid across the ground, dazed and suddenly unfocused, trying to find his balance again. His was a costly mistake, he knew, leaving him no option other than to hope he might be able to escape and nurse his wounds. If he were lucky, he might escape.
The demon did not pause or consider its advantage, attacking immediately against the fallen form of Chulon with lethal power. But its attack was deflected suddenly as a second opponent appeared from behind the remaining buildings of Tannis. Chulon caught sight of it briefly as he struggled to regain his feet. A stream of blackness snaked across the square from this second attacker, magic against magic, pushing the demon back and causing its attack against Chulon to miss completely, carving an arc through a building across the square instead. Finding his balance at last, Chulon fled rapidly into the shadows to recalculate his options. The image of his former friend's face was burnt freshly into his mind, clouding his options. He turned and watched as the battle unfolded, wondering briefly if he could leave the handling of this demon to the new stranger. Their battle was sadly brief though, as the demon's wild magical power responded chaotically to the intervention of this mage. The demon retaliated with wind, rock, fire and death, blasting the strange mage backward through one of the buildings which collapsed and ended their short battle.
There the demon stood, victorious over two opponents, still bent on destroying the temple which defined the center of the town. Once again there was no pause to its attack as it unleashed the full force of its power against the walls of the temple, blowing them outward and disintegrating the front half of the building. Chulon, unable to rejoin the fight without refocusing his thoughts, watched helplessly as the building ignited into flame and its priests scattered in fear. The demon crushed and slaughtered many of them as they tried desperately to get away from its attacks. Explosion after explosion ripped the building apart.
But then Chulon noticed something he had not seen before. Across the town square, kneeling at an altar near the edge of the temple grounds was a simple acolyte, distinguished by his ceremonial acolyte robes. He appeared calm and quiet, praying in supplication as he appeared unaware of the chaos surrounding him. Chulon wondered how long this simple fool had knelt there, ignoring the devastation erupting around him. The demon continued its attacks, tearing apart the last few standing walls of the structure before it finally noticed what Chulon had just seen. With unthinking cruelty, the demon stalked toward the kneeling acolyte and Chulon took his cue to do what he could to save at least one of the survivors of this devastating attack.
Chulon was much too far away to prevent the inevitable, though, and even calling upon all of his incredible speed to bridge the gap, he could not make it to the acolyte before the demon did. Roaring with devilish delight, the demon struck the acolyte with lethal power. Chulon stopped short as the blow landed, though, amazed. The acolyte remained untouched, still praying intently, ignoring the threat standing over him. The demon roared again, hurling blow after blow against the acolyte to no effect. Deflected or absorbed, Chulon could not tell, but he stood stupidly now near the middle of the town square and watched as the acolyte calmly finished his prayer, still unconcerned with the power of the demon next to him. Then he stood slowly, revealing an inner light that seemed to shine through his small body. Chulon could plainly see enormous bleeding gashes covering the simple acolyte's body, but he stood nonetheless, appearing unharmed by the physical damage inflicted upon him. The light intensified and the acolyte's skin darkened around its radiance. Then he turned and seized the demon by the throat, effortlessly lifting the massive creature from the ground as the inner light burned through the demon with increasing intensity, pulsing into it again and again until the brightness of it made Chulon throw his hand in front of his eyes. When the light faded, the demon was gone, incinerated by the power that coursed through the acolyte's body.
As the acolyte returned to his knees in prayer, Chulon knew what had happened. Though it always manifested in a different way, a minion had been born into the world through this demon's attack. He had seen this sort of thing before, in the towns that he did not get to quickly enough. Often a minion would save them from the power of the demon's attack. If mages and demons were the pinnacles of magical power and Laethecna was the pinnacle of physical power, then minions were the pinnacle of spiritual power. The gods were imbued with more power than man could ever hope to attain, but when the world had been ordered, they were severed from the physical realm so that they would only be able to influence men who were willing. Sometimes, when an acolyte was willing to surrender his will completely to the power of their god, a doorway would be opened for the god to manifest his power directly in the physical realm through this servant's body. No power available to man could stand alone against the manifest will of a god.
Chulon stepped back from the scene of the attack. There would be no glory here for him. The demon, once a friend of his, had bested him in battle and the town's god had rescued them from the demon's attack. It would be best if he got out of their way as swiftly as possible. As he surveyed the devastation around him he knew that the townspeople would have a lot of work ahead to recover what had been lost. Doubtless they would all possess a newfound respect and appreciation for their formerly disregarded deity.
“A sad ending for dear Ethegra,” The voice from behind him startled Chulon and he turned to find the mage who had saved his life standing there, “...but an ending nonetheless.”
Chulon had thought the mage to be dead within the pile of debris. How had he survived?
“Did you know Ethegra?” Chulon asked.
“Did you?” The mage replied.
Chulon considered this not entirely friendly response before deciding how to answer. “My name is Chulon, and I once knew Ethegra the White very well. He once saved my life. He changed it, in fact, changed it completely.”
The mage considered this. “I was Ethegra's companion. We were investigating the sudden rise in demon activity across the island. With his fall...” The mage stared off into space. “With the fall of Ethegra I have become convinced that there is an outside influence that is somehow responsible for it all.”
Chulon thought for an uncomfortable moment about the implication of what this mage was saying. “Walk with me mage, perhaps we can inform each other of our discoveries.”