The Harrowing was here. The Mist had enshrouded the port town of one of the Blue Flame Isles' smaller islands. It hid the moon from the terrified population below and deluged the city with its wraiths and phantoms. They tore through the streets, clogging them with howling and screams. Some stalked the rooftops waiting to ambush the unsuspecting, others rampaged in groups, while yet more waited in the water at the docks to decimate those who attempted to escape by boat. Everywhere there was chaos and death.
Karthus reveled in it all. It was during this special time that he was able to single-mindedly pursue his passion; bestowing the gift of unlife onto others and bringing them into the folds of his congregation. He could soothe their spirits as they shed their mortal coils and sing to them as he shepherded them across the sea to their eternal home in the Isles.
But this time, he was distracted. Try as he might to let the will of the Mist fill him completely, some of his thoughts still drifted to his daughter.
Is she safe? Will she forgive me for leaving her? What horrors could Thresh be subjecting her to?
He shook his head in an attempt to rid his mind of these invasive thoughts. He had work to do, and then he could return home. Karthus glided up to the rooftop of a tavern so he could survey the chaos. A sensation, not unlike a pinprick, caught his attention. It was the sensation of losing connection with one of his wraiths as they were assimilated back into the Mist. From the corner of his vision he spied the telltale tendrils of the defeated spirits being pulled back into the Mist.
Karthus glided down into the streets and made his way to where his wraiths had been. A group of militia men stood huddled together. One of the men thrusted at an incoming wraith with his stiletto. The blade sunk into the eye socket and the wraith let out a hissing screech as it dissipated. Karthus felt the pinprick again. He looked at the weapon of the militia man. In the fading light of their torches, Karthus recognized the glint of the metal on the blade. It was silver, one of the few materials that could harm his kind. This, he decided, was a fight worth intervening in.
Karthus raised his staff high, bathing the street in a cold light. At the silent command, the wraiths retreated back to their master. They circled around Karthus, waiting for his command to return to the fray. The militia men took this moment of respite to reload their pistols and form a firing line. Karthus did not fear their guns and glided towards the men.
"Be still," Karthus said, "why do you fight? The Mists have chosen your island for salvation. You should be grateful."
"Demon!" the militia shouted back.
"Let me guide you to freedom," Karthus urged them, "I will make it as painless as possible. Lay down your weapons and you will see."
A barrage of bullets was the men's response this time. There was nothing magical about these bullets though, and Karthus didn't even flinch as they passed through him.
"Very well," he said somberly, "if your desire is for your final moments of life to be ones of strife, so be it."
Before the men could react, Karthus attacked. He pointed to the ground before the group, focusing necromantic energy to gather for a moment before clenching his fist and releasing it a sudden burst. Several men were thrown off their feet and the wraiths were upon them. The others tried to flee.
Drawing upon the powers of the Mist, Karthus chilled the air in the street and filled with a pale haze. The magic sunk into the muscles of the living, seeping their energy and slowing their movement to little more than a crawl. The wraiths howled with delight as they whirled around Karthus. He approached the doomed men with his staff held high and his other hand outstretched.
"It's over now," he said, "say your last words so that I may sing them in your dirge."
He loomed over one wraith that had been clawing at one of the downed men. But rather than entrails that the spirit had been pulling on, it was yanking upon the man's soul, dragging it from the body. Karthus reached down and gripped the spectral forearm of the dead man, hoisting it up completely from the flesh. The fresh spirit starred at nothing, its face still frozen in fear and disbelief.
"You are free now," Karthus said to it, "now come, there are others who need aid."
A wheezing moan came from the spirit as it trailed after its new master. Man by man, Karthus made his way down the street, binding the recently deceased to his will until half a dozen new souls floated beside him. He cut six more notches in his staff.
"Six souls saved," he said, "but there are many more to liberate tonight. Go, seek them out."
At his command, the wraiths launched themselves into the air to continue their hunt. Karthus watched them go with a small smile. He knew that the recently deceased were among the best seekers. They were still drawn to the living they had ties with in life. That way, Karthus reasoned, they could be reunited with a relative or companion in undeath.
Once more his thoughts were on Achlys.
Is her soul drawn to mine? We are not flesh and blood but I feel the bond. When I hold her I can feel her tiny soul. It's bright and warm. Her soul. If Thresh does anything to it I swear that I will find a way to destroy that accused lantern. I should destroy it someday anyways. The souls of the dead were not meant to be his playthings. They should fly free. If only the Mist didn't favor him so.
This time it was a noise that pulled his attention from his thoughts. A window on the house Karthus was hovering next to had been smashed during the fight and the soft sound was coming from it. It was the sound of wood scraping over wood. Karthus pushed open the door of the building with his staff and glided in.
It was dark. The light from Karthus's staff was the brightest source of light. The cold light and harsh jagged shadows created from it gave the room the appearance of a frozen Freljord cave. Karthus moved his staff with a steady hand, watching how the shadows changed and looking for any shape that might hint at a human. Nothing. If anything was hiding here, it was hiding well.
Karthus looked behind the toppled table. Whatever the family had been eating for dinner had toppled onto the floor, but nobody was here. He opened the wardrobe. Nothing. Broom closet. Empty. He was making his way to the window at the back of the house to see if anyone escaped through it when a pistol shot broke the silence.
The bullet passed through him as he calmly turned to face his attacker. The man had been hiding behind the open door. He was trembling, but the expression on his face was one of fury rather than fear. This confused Karthus. If the man had wanted to flee, he could have attempted to do so by running out the door while he had been searching.
Another shot sailed through Karthus's spectral body. This time it was followed by a faint whimpering noise. Karthus looked down at the source of the noise. A small pair of feet was poking out from behind the curtain. Karthus threw the heavy cloth back, revealing the young girl huddled behind it. She screamed. In the light of Karthus's staff her blonde hair was washed out to silver and her tear filled eyes shone green. Something seemed to freeze the lich as he looked down at her.
Achlys?
A third bullet harmlessly struck Karthus, this time in his skull.
"Get away from my daughter!" the man shouted as he reloaded.
This snapped Karthus back to attention. He turned to confront the father.
"Get to the basement," the man shouted to his daughter.
The girl was off like a shot. Her feet barely touched the ground as she bolted to the corner of the house. The old sea chest in the corner of the room had been pushed aside, revealing a trapdoor in its shadow. She dropped into it and closed the hatch behind her.
A fourth shot sounded through the house. Karthus returned his attention back to the man.
"Here, monster," the human hissed, "I'm what you're after."
This confused the lich, and he stared silently at the man.
This Harrowing is not here for you. The Harrowing is here for everyone, young or old. But why then, did I hesitate?
"Come, monster," the man continued, "come and claim me if you can. I would make a fine addition to your army of the dead if you can catch me."
He unloaded a sixth shot into Karthus before sprinting out the door.
"Chase me, monster!" he repeated as he ran down the street, making an awful racket, "chase me!"
Karthus was silent, listening to the man's voice grow more distant until it was lost in the other howling noises of the Harrowing. He moved over to the old sea chest and looked down at the trapdoor. There was a seal of protection inlayed in silver on it. A weak enchantment, it would repel any lesser spirit, but one as powerful as Karthus, breaking through it would be a simple matter. From behind it the whimpering of the small girl could be heard.
Why do I still hesitate? To embrace death is the will of the Mist. Why do I falter?
Frustration mounted within Karthus. He blasted the sea chest open, causing its contents to rain down around the room. Clothing, books, a spyglass, a toy cutlass, and a hairbrush, the girl's belongings, scattered about the lich. He picked up the hairbrush and turned it over in his hands and plucked a strand of blonde hair from its teeth.
Achlys's hair is growing.
He pocketed the brush as he began to rationalize his actions.
No, this must be it. I was drawn to this place for Achlys. The Isles want her to thrive, but to do so she needs more than what they can provide her. Yes. This Harrowing is for her.
Karthus repeated this to himself as he returned to the streets.
This Harrowing is for her.
There he encountered another group of living fleeing the Harrowing. This time he did not hesitate. He repeated the phrase again as he pulled their souls into his command.
This Harrowing is for her.
He called his wandering wraiths back to back him and they proceeded to search the homes of the island. Anything that he thought could benefit his daughter, he commanded them to collect. He repeated the phrase again as he ordered a spirit to grab a bowl full of oranges.
This Harrowing is for her.
He repeated the phrase through the night. He repeated it until he believed it.
Midnight had come and gone. Karthus ushered his spirits back towards the docks with their spoils. They would have to return to the Isles by dawn's first light and Karthus wanted to make sure that Achlys's presents were ready to be ferried away at a moment's notice. He looked over his prizes as the wraith placed them in a pile. Food, clothing, books, even furniture were gathered. His mind finally put at ease, Karthus and his procession of wraiths turned back towards the town.
Summoners,
Stay as safe as you are able to. Please be kind. We will get through this by looking out for each other. Best of luck on the Rift.
- Gwoo