Sirathu: 6 Desnus, 4742

Naqam gazed across the most recent killing field in the battle to take back Varisia from the forces of the Crimson Flame, his face from the nose down wrapped with scented cloth to protect himself from the stench of the dead. All around him were bloated corpses, mostly human, inhabitants of a small hamlet called Sirathu. In his mind he could hear the echo of their dying screams clearly, see the battle they waged against the servants of Chaos, the insane cultists that sought to bring the "gift" of change to all. That this change brought with it fire, destruction, and anarchy, murder, pestilence, and terror meant nothing to them, for they sought nothing less than the end of everything.

"Why would anyone do this?" The query came from Xein, who had quietly walked up to stand beside Naqam.

Madness. The thought was a simple truth, for no sane mind could willingly embrace this as being for the good of all. The Lady of Runes, his goddess Lissala, and Desna, the goddess known to him as The Mysterious Traveller, different as night and day from one another, at one time stood together against such foes in the days before the rise of the empire of Thassilon. Now in this day and age, only Desna remained to face this threat from beyond, his goddess lost with the fall of the great empire. And though she was not alone in her fight, the loss of Lissala robbed Desna of a powerful friend and ally.

He turned to regard his companion. Xein also wore a facial cloth, but in his case it, along with the hooded longcoat he wore, was more to hide his features than to provide any kind of protection from the pervading stench. He was from Cheliax, a country reknowned for trafficking with devils. As a child, Xein's father, a Chelish devil-binder, used a dangerous ritual in an attempt to infuse his son with the power of a pit fiend.

An attempt that worked, but not in the manner his father expected. A complex series of glowing white runes were embedded just beneath the skin all over his body, serving both as a diabolical link to Hell from this world and the manifestation of his father's infernal compact. In time, Xein came to exercise control of this investiture and developed powers similar in nature to a warlock.

The Chelaxian raised a hand limned in hellish fire that smelled faintly of brimstone, but before he could do anything another reached forth and grabbed him. "Lavitz..." began Xein.

The Andoren, who had somehow made his way to both men without their knowledge, stared intently at the Chelish man, a look that ended any further attempt by Xein to speak. "I have no problem with you using your powers against our enemies," he said. "Their souls were damned when they aligned themselves with the Crimson Flame. Your soul, however, is another matter. Do not do anything that we would both regret."

Naqam quietly observed their confrontation, the sight stirring a memory within him of his own first encounter with Lavitz nearly a year ago...


Ashwood: 18 Arodus, 4741

The crystal is the heart of the weapon. The heart is the crystal of the J'sevath. The J'sevath is the crystal of the universe. The universe is the weapon of the heart. All of these are connected: the crystal, the weapon, the J'sevath. We are one.

Naqam repeated this mantra in his mind as he knelt in the clearing, huge and ancient coniferous trees sheltering what would normally have been the heart of a tranquil place.

But these times were anything but normal.

Overhead, small sheets of lightning shimmered faintly in a night sky that already burned with red fire. But this was nothing new to Naqam. Since the coming of the Crimson Flame in the North, this was an all too common occurance. It was as though nature itself was in open defiance to the malevolent and destructive force that was at work in the world.

But whereas nature could openly show its disdain for the presence of Massif and the chaos it represented, the varied peoples of Varisia dared not, lest the cultists, those that willingly served the Crimson Flame, make their lives more unbearable than it already was.

Naqam rose to his feet and placed the cowl of his white robes over his bald head, the shadows within breaking up the view of his face. His senses told him that something – or someone, was coming and he wanted to be ready to meet it. He slipped his arms through the slits in his robes where the sleeves attached to the main body and reached for the cylindrical crystal rod that hung from the white leather belt of his desert-like garb and held it by his side.

"You came. Are you ready?" Naqam turned to face the one he had sensed.

"I am," came the expected response. "Are you sure this is the only way to prove yourself to us?"

Naqam said nothing as he raised the crystalline rod and triggered its activation with but a thought. Twin lances of pure telekinetic force boiled forth, hissing and crackling in violet loops that began and ended at the apertures on either end of the delicate-looking device. He immediately settled into a ready stance, hands lightly gripping the deep crystal hilt that now made up the center, the heart, of his force-staff, amber eyes focused intently on his opponent.

Across from him stood his opponent, Lavitz Kaisur, a haggard-looking blond-haired Andoren dressed in simple clothing: boots, dark wool breeches, and a black leather vest worn over a loose white shirt. Were it not for the thick, studded mace he held in his hand, a casual observer would overlook this man based solely on appearance, thinking he was nothing more than a commoner exhausted from a long day of work.

But Naqam knew better than to underestimate this seemingly ordinary looking man.


Sirathu: 6 Desnus, 4742

Xein met Lavitz's intense gaze with one of his own, the Chelish man's eyes seeming to smolder within their sockets as they flickered with shades of red. "Aside from ourselves, Lavitz, there are only corpses here."

"Not entirely true. Naqam, would you..."

"Yes, Lavitz. I'm already on it."

The sound of low whispering voices filled the area as Naqam began extending his perceptions to sense the presence of spiritual energy. Energy that could only come from living beings. Immediately he sensed the auras of himself and his companions, with his own being the strongest of the three. Naqam then began to pivot in place, slowly shifting the cone of his spiritual vision around him to encompass the immediate area, taking care not to overlook anything within his view. He had almost performed a full circuit when he found something. It was faint, barely noticeable even to him with his heightened awareness. So how had Lavitz ... ? "Found it. Very faint. I think that whoever it is may be dying."

"Take care of it, Naqam. Xein and I need to talk."

"As you wish." Without another word, Naqam left to uncover the person he had sensed.

The Andoren's gaze never left the Chelaxian. "We never assume, Xein. So much of what we do depends on it."

"And what is it that we do exactly?. Huh, Lavitz? Why exactly are we here? We're supposed to fight the enemy, not clean up their mess." Xein's eyes blazed with a crimson light, his anger apparent. "This is not why I'm here."

"What we 'do' is serve. In any capacity that we can. That is our duty, our obligation..."

"Serve?" The tone of Xein's words seemed to possess a disturbing supernatural quality to them. "Where I come from, the words 'servant' and 'slave' have no distinction. I am no one's slave. Least of all yours, Lavitz." And with that said, the Chelaxian produced in his free hand a shaft of white energy that thrummed dangerously. "Now, let go of me!"

Lavitz's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He had been hoping that it would not come to conflict. "Don't do this, Xein. Calm down and put that blade of yours away." The tone of his voice was soothing as he attempted to bring the situation back under control. He released his grip on Xein's arm, his thoughts falling back to another time and place...


Ashwood: 18 Arodus, 4741

Lavitz watched Naqam An'Akin use the crystal hilt as a focus to manifest his force-staff, observing the distribution of his opponent's weight across his body while assuming a defensive ready posture. The Andoren knew that the stance he now saw had a dual purpose, for though it enabled the user to receive incoming attacks, a slight shift in his steps could turn defense into offense before the attacker even realized it had occurred.

No, thought Lavitz, I will not be the one to charge recklessly in. You will have to come to me.

One of Lavitiz's fingers made contact with the second of the six studs on the mace, pressing it lightly. Within moments, the item began to change. A wide blade sprang forth from the flanged ball that topped the weapon, even as it's haft lengthened. The change took place within the span of an eye's blink, but the two foot long mace had doubled in length to become a four foot long battleaxe that he held now in a two-handed grip above his head with the blade angled both upward and behind him, the dominant leg back, a high guard stance that enabled powerful step-through strikes to be utilized.

Powerful, thought Naqam. Unusual, but still powerful.

Lavitz's stance spoke volumes to him. It was similar to what the J'sevath called R'Orikal, the Way of The Brass Dragon. Strength and power would be the emphasis of the Andoren's chosen form, both in offense and defense.

This stance also told Naqam that he would have to be the one to initiate this fight, especially if he wanted to get Kaisur to do what he needed him to do. And so Naqam began to advance, weapon thrumming resonantly as it was whirled over his head and around his shoulders even as he spun into an application of the linking step used in his favored style of combat, a form called E'erop, the Way of The Tentacled Beast. Naqam became a whirlwind of aggression as both ends of his force-staff were used in a series of extremely rapid and powerful attacks, enhanced even more by the power of his soul.

But the flurry of blows was blocked by Lavitz, the head of his battleaxe in the precise, proper alignments to catch each strike made by Naqam, whose arms ached from each point of contact with the weapon. However, he had no time to think on it, for now Lavitz had shifted from defense to offense, the Andoren's battleaxe coming in to begin a series of wide, powerful strikes meant to wear down his opponent.

For that was the purpose of R'Orikal's design, to use the opponent's attack against them so as to create openings that can be taken advantage of. Requiring a higher level of physical strength and endurance than the other forms taught by his order, the focus of this particular form was on the complete domination of the opponent. It was both brutal and effective, but given what he knew of this man, Naqam thought this style of combat suited him very well. The Andoren was like metal: strong and powerful, uncompromising and unbreakable. And like metal, he would overcome through persistance and might, never yielding, ever tireless.

But Naqam was like fire, the great contradiction: creative and passionate, filled with joy and anger and brilliance. Fire overwhelms, it consumes and it illuminates. Destruction and creation, smoke and light, love and hate. All of these things were embodied in fire and, therefore, in himself. The knowledge of this truth would enable Naqam to overcome his foe.

Lavitz ended his counterattack with the double-handed overhead strike that was a signature move of R'Orikal, one that Naqam had been expecting. He brought one end of his force-staff up to meet the descending weapon, allowing his own to be pushed back before spinning around to catch the Andoren in the back with the other end. Naqam quickly back pedaled away from Lavitz, spinning away into a Desnan, or butterfly, jump that played upon a weakness inherent in R'Orikal's form: it's lack of mobility. By making Lavitz come after him, he had taken control of the battle away from the Andoren and, in the process, blunted his use of the Brass Dragon form.

The robed warrior seemed to be on the defensive, backing away as he was trying desperately to avoid any points of contact with his axe. Not wishing to give him any breathing room, Lavitz continued to press the attack. He swung his battleaxe left, right, then left again. And with each pass, the result was the same: Naqam nimbly danced out of the weapon's reach. Then the white clad warrior did something Lavitz did not expect. After the last swing, Naqam launched himself into a cartwheel that incorporated an inward snapkick in the air, his foot almost catching Lavitz full in the face due to his forward momentum, before landing. All without the use of his hands.

Lavitz was impressed, both by the acrobatic prowess of his adversary and the cunning he'd displayed in using that particular move. Naqam had used his arms to torque his body over into the cartwheel position, and in doing, freed his feet to be used in an offensive manner. The unexpected move would have landed had he not brought himself up short.

"So the rumours are true," said Lavitz. "You are a Walker of the Hidden Path, a follower of the Will and the Way. A Lissalan warrior-mystic."

Naqam said nothing as he continued moving, his focus unwavering.

The Andoren shook his head then launched himself forward into a dash, charging Naqam with his axe held high. The warrior-mystic snapped one end of his force-staff into the underside of his opponent's left arm, knocking both the arm aside and the axe out of alignment. Then, in the same motion, Naqam brought the other end of his weapon down and to the side, caving in the Andoren's knee before bringing the force-staff up to catch Lavitz full in the face with the crystal-hilt, his nose collapsing beneath the force of the blow.


Sirathu: 6 Desnus, 4742

Naqam had managed to move aside some of the corpses that were between him and the aura he was sensing. With each body moved, the volume of the whispering voices increased. When he finally came across the body of a child, a little girl, Naqam was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer loudness of the voices as they seemed to take on a screaming quality. Allowing his mystic sense to fall away, Naqam began to focus on the task of extricating her from where she lay, lifting her gently and carrying her a short distance away.

As he knelt down and began to check the little girl for injuries, Naqam could hear Lavitz and Xein's words. Not now, he thought. The last thing we need is to start fighting amongst ourselves.

"...put that blade of yours away."

Naqam turned away from his task and saw his companions facing each other as though they were about to come to blows. He could not let this happen. Not after everything they had been through. Naqam knew he had to hurry before it was too late. The mystic looked back to the little girl he had saved...and immediately was back to his feet, his crystal hilt in hand.

Across the little girl's face, lines of molten gold began to trace along her features, spilling forth from the corners of her mouth. The flesh of her cheeks began to pulse and throb with an eerie green light before finally splitting away to reveal jewels, emeralds, that flickered with an unholy glare.

Naqam backed away from the abomination before him, igniting his weapon as he moved. This was a totenmaske, an undead thing that existed only to prey on the living. But unlike most undead, it did not just savor the life essence of its victims. The totenmaske's cravings ran along a more twisted course, for the creature also fed on the emotional release in the sins of others as well.