Two Weeks Ago
The realm was a small one, on a small planet on some distant plane in the corner of existence, where few would need to or want to adventure. What was left of the realm, itself was ruled by some aged and diverged orcish horde consisting of numerous margin races such as trolls, true orc, goblins and such. They've ruled it for some time, leaving little but a spattering of man and elf to populate the outskirts.
It was the outskirts of the outskirts of the outskirts. And that is where Magus found himself, in the rolling hills of a mountain, a front for a movement to reclaim a small region from the orcish horde of rule. At the base of the mountain stood an ancient battlement; the wall was dilapidated and crumbling, with an old keep built into the hill behind it, with old markings etched in the stone columns. The area was also littered with spikes and the industrious rural protections of the orc brigade that now made the place it's home.
Magus climbed up stone stairs toward the wall, sword in hand, after hacking through an orcish attacker. Behind him, men and elves charged into the battle, ducking spears thrown from atop the failing wall.
"We've got this, move forward," screamed on of the men, clearly in charge, wearing makeshift armor like his companions. Nearly one hundred strong, minus those felled in this battle, they were winning, and rushing are charging forth with fervor and fury, looking, and feeling nearly unstoppable. Voices scattered in battles behind them cheered and roiled up a new fury, striking down the hulking, but slow brutes before them. Men fired arrows at the walls, and victory was looking all but guaranteed for this troup.
The day was indeed beautiful. A wonderful mild early summer day for the region, in this world.
So, it was an odd indicator when the sky opened up with a thunder crack that sounded like it was directly above their heads. The mist of something exceeding the limits of sound, so much so that light flame flickered around it and came crashing to the stone and soil at the top of the steps, where the climb met the gates of the fort like a kinetic missile crashing into the ground an exploding it in a crater that sent dirt, strong and everything in a 50 foot radius flying in in every direction.
Magus knew what, and strongly suspected who.
Much of what remained of the wall crumbled, orc fell from the battlements and several were sent tumbling down the hills. Men dropped prone at the explosion over them as debris came raining down. Magus had a thousand curses. He hoped it was Cameron, but he knew it wasn't with out making any effort to check.
Magus through a field of kinetic energy out with the little time he could, re-directing the falling debris out and away from the now crippled offensive as large stones that used to consist of the step that marked their path came tumbling down and out, the impact having taken a domed bite out of the front of the hill, a thick cloud of particles heaving into the air. He heard more cracks and crashes as the remains of the ancient fort gave way in weary weakness under the impact shockwave and falling debris.
Only two entities weren't deafened by the sound. In spite of his efforts a large hung of stone landed near a group of men, would-be warriors and rolled toward them. All but one escaped and by the time Magus even noticed it in the chaos it was too late. "I'm going to kill him..." a voice none could here in the soundwaves of the chaos as things clattered down.
Only a few scant seconds had passed and even the deaf could feel the waves of the impact as it echoed back from the hills. What was left of the orcish battalion was left in shock, many rising as the cloud around the impact suddenly cleared, fanned by an odd blade attached to an inhumanly strong hand. Magus' suspicion proved true as he peered upon Ar, standing in hole he'd left in the crest of the hill.
He was clad in a typical attire for the would-be embodiment of warriors, draped in trophies of important kills. Fur and bone framed his shoulders, strapped with enduring leather taken from kills, in haphazard and makeshift armor that often denoted decoration more than utility, from the dragon scale skirt to the odd blade made of bone he used to fan away the dust cloud. The original creation did much to make his presence very known, particularly to Magus.
Magus was furious. He'd meticulously crafted this moment; this battle. And he did so for multiple objectives both personal and altruistic. Then this man, who clearly looked related to Magus, and there would be no hiding it, had in one action -- an action Ar would claim to be petty or simple -- may have ruined the altruistic part of Magus' efforts. Magus' blue eyes locked on Ar, from his hunched poise as the world around them settled into place. He looked over his shoulder, looking for a specific face, and began to bound across the hill, sword in hand. As he passed, an orc rose, lunging for Magus, and with no time to spare, no time to halt, a swipe of his sword was all it took to slay and dispatch the brute as he passed. He couldn't afford to hide his ability, now, and hoped it went unnoticed.
He arrived at a boulder on the side of the hill, where a man lay crouched behind, looking up the hill as the dust settled. "Magus, what happened? Why does that man look like you, are you friends? How did he do that," all spat out in the man with a bent sword, in a splatter of frantic questions.
"Arnor, you need to retreat," Magus said, pivoting around the dialog without so much a second thought. As he spoke Magus stabbed his sword into the ground, reached into a pocket and started putting on a ring, with a black gem on it. "This is a kind of trouble you don't want," he added. "I'll buy you guys the time, you can retake the fort, later," spoken as his hands weaved with faint white sparks around his fingers, the gem beginning to glow the same.
"What? No, we worked so hard, we're so close," Arnor replied. "And I'm not leaving you, not after all you've done and taught us," he looked Magus in the face, and tried to search it for an answer, "who is that man, Magus?"
"You don't want that answer, right now," Magus said, looking down, and for the first time in the weeks he'd befriended this man, didn't acknowledge him emotionally.
"What are you doing," he asked as finally the magic in Magus' hands caught his attention.
"I promise, I'll see you again, and I'll tell you everything, my friend. Get them out of here," Magus' ringed left hand lifted and faintly lit runes circled around Arnor's helmeted cranium. Arnor's eyes glazed. Magus watched with relief. These spells were not his forte. "I'm sorry, but you need to go now."
"Yes," said Arnor, who rose to right his posture, and started running through the others, stabbing crawling goblins as he passed. "Retreat! Everyone go. Regroup at camp!"
Meanwhile, above while rock and stone tumbled from the ruins of this fort, announcing it's aged frailty. The orcs had kept, for the sake of rebuilding the fort, a large, brutish troll of some variety. Where the orcs easily stood above six feet, this thing stood over nine feet tall, and was struggling at it's chains and shackles, enraged, within the fort's courtyard. It had been bolted into bit of wall that was now crumbling and the creature thrashed like an angry lashed dog, roaring that could be heard.
Ar, stepped from the hole, using his toe to move aside the arm of an orc he had decapitated with his dramatic arrival, moving to where steps were dislodged, stepping through and over to where they still remained in place in the staired pathway. "Magus, I would have words with you," he bellowed loud enough for the other white haired man forty yards down the hill to hear, inspite of the moan and thrashing and roaring from all around them. A faint pass of the explosions echo rolled by them.
Magus looked back to Ar, unamused. Remaining orcs emerged from the crumbled wall and destroyed gateway. The first screamed in a gutteral native tongue to all around, it translated to "they summon their God and think us scared!" He raised a double sided great ax and rushed directly toward Ar, who kept his back turned. Of course, the Goblins began to flee, wanting none of this type of battle.
Magus cast a glance down the hill, noting the men were well within retreat and not looking back, clamoring away quickly. Safe to reveal himself he lept, he plucked his weapon from the dirt shooting into the air toward the goblin troopers attempting to flee. "Kill all of them, their kind can't know of this battle," he shouted down as her arced through the air.
"I didn't come here to fight your silly pretend battles, Magus" spoken, right as he turned, and the charging orc arrived at him, almost lazily swinging his bone-blade as he sidestepped the ax dropping down toward his head, cleaving through both orc and axe handle with little fanfare.
Magus landed within the group of the goblins, and spun, his own blade rending them, quickly and he darted through the small grouping of twenty or so making quick work before they could reply to his very arrival. He lept again, crossing an easy hundred yards and landing numbly beside Ar, dispatching the two approaching Orcs with a few swipes of his sword. Ever blow he delt was instantly lethal. He stepped over and impaled the brain of the orc Ar had decapitated. He, to the surprise of no one that knew him, meant each death to be painless.
"I know you heard me," Ar said, the roaring in the courtyard behind what little remained of the wall intensified. A hunk of wall fell over and huge footsteps thundered and quaked the ground.
"And if you don't help me clean this up, the words we have won't be any you like," Magus replied, as the huge troll, all muscle, fat and rage emerged shoving bits of remaining wall down as it breached, dragging huge steel chains behind it, roaring as it grabbed an Orc, still decided what to do, crushing his head in it's hands, before lifting it up and ripping the remaining body in two, throwing each to either side in a bloodied, explosive distress as it lumbered relentlessly forward. It stumbled down into the crater and across the broken hillside at the pair.
Neither bothered to even look, both staring at one another as if some kind of contest of will were playing out. Magus even sheathed his sword. "There's only a handful left, they need to be dispatched so I can get what I need and repair the mess you made to my plan." The troll arrived, lifted a huge boulder of a fist and brought it down upon Magus' head...
Until it stopped, mere inches from Magus' skull, Magus' own hand having caught it in something that seemed like a casual gesture.
"Fine," Ar said, and using the pommel of his weapon lurched to the side, dealing a blow to the Troll's sternum that sent all three tons of beast flying back through gate, through the courtyard and into the archway entrance to the mountain embedded keep, causing it to begin collapsing.
Magus' stare could bring death. "I. Need. Something. In. There."
Ar rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Fine," he shot like missle, through the gates. One orc, two, three, and a few cowering Goblins all eridated into cut pieces or heads in a fine mist with chunks of skull sent flying everywhere. Standing where the gate once was waiting for Magus. "Let's go recover whatever petty prize you came here for."
Magus drew in a breath and approached Ar, the two moving toward the entrance to the keep. "Clear it out, don't destroy anything else. This place is integral to those people," said in a stern command.
"Fine, fine. I'll play whatever game you are playing," he snorted out, taking a huge hunk of stone and rolling it out of the way.
"What do you want, Ar?" He asked. "I told you, we're not friends and we're not going to have chats because you've become bored with your stale, goalless life."
Ar rolled his eyes followed with an emotionally detached glance at Magus. "Someone attacked Battle Realm. The three largest cities were wiped out," he said, with an odd form of dissociation. At least, it was odd for Ar.
"You finally had a worthy opponent, you should be happy," Magus added, using his kinetic abilities to remove rubble and set it in the courtyard, hands deftly controlling the motion.
"I wasn't there," he said. "When the warlords heard of the third attack, they each arrived with their armies, he wiped eight of them out."
Magus stopped. That caught him by surprise. "I'm assuming Antax is the only survivor," Magus inquired, now stopping to stare at Ar's face, as if absorbing some kind of knowledge.
"Yes," Ar replied, without looking back, clearing the last stone, rolling it idly into the courtyard, then turning to enter the keep. "What are we looking for?"
"It's not like you to change the subject," said as he followed Ar into the darkness of the keep built into the hillside. "You're afraid."
Ar snapped a glance back at him. "Watch yourself, Magus," spoken on an intimidating sneer.
"The warlords attempted a revolt, what... ten of your years ago. They almost succeeded, and someone just wiped them out," Magus explained. "That has to intimidate even you," he added.
"Think what you will," he said.
"We're looking for a temple. A statue," Magus added as a side note. He lifted a hand and a sphere of light ignited in it, acting a torch. The hall gave way to a great room, and both strayed, looking around for an indicator of the next direction. "You’re not scared for yourself,” he paused, looking around Ar to hallway with particular run markings, pointing to indicate a in a second conversation of gesture as they spoke on Ar’s turmoil. “Wait, if the three cities were decimated… That was what? Half of battleword’s population?”
Ar nodded, “about, we do not exactly keep a census, but yes, this was not a light task.”
“And you came to me because you want help? Or do you think I did it,” Magus then asked, as they moved down the hallway, lit by Magus orb, approaching a junction.
Ar looked ahead, and seemed very keen on not engaging Magus with glances or facial expressions. “Survivors spoke of their attackers. Each was heralded by a young man with black hair, dark clothing and a faint beard. He leveled accusations upon everyone and was searching for me. When attacked, he was captured and put into a fighting pit, for amusement. He didn’t last long, and was injured. Each time as he feel in injury, he cried, and it called upon a dark army.”
“A dark army? What does that mean,” Magus asked.
“A ship would come, cutting through the very earth like it was made of water, surrounded by hordes they would only describe as ‘dark things’. On that ship, their own nightmares, and a man, who looked exactly like the boy, but older and far, far, stronger. And his lieutenants resembled you, your son, and your son’s annoying beloved, Fae or Fairy, or whatever she calls herself.”
“You know that from the descriptions,” asked Magus, giving a glance to Ar, as they arrived in the junction of hallways, one clearly leading to a temple, he nodded in that direction and they moved accordingly.
“He called them by name, when he rallied them,”Antax recognized you and your boy, as well.”
“Fair enough, but you clearly know it wasn’t us,” he tacked on. They entered a temple, a place of worship. Stone pews were across the floor in various levels of decay, and a barely recognizable, moss covered statue stood, over a long since dried fountain opposite their entryway.
“No, but what God did you anger to bring this down upon me,” Ar asked. “My world has been two far from the ley lines for too long, and the Gods do not care about me much, so long as I don't mingle too much into their plans. You, however, have been pissing two pantheons off for quite some time.”
“That could be any number of the lesser ones, and none I’ve had to skirt around or deal with have met that kind of description,” Magus said.
“What about a God of Fear? One of the things that stood out was many encountered those things which they feared the most,” he said. “Not all, but enough to make it a relevant bit of information,” Ar said. “What could manifest such capable things, including you and yours to such a point that it could devastate so much of my world that I spent an age cultivating into my paradise,” Ar finally looked at Magus, searching for a real answer.
“You actually want me to help, but not in a fight,” Magus said looking over his shoulder. Ar stopped, but Magus moved into the empty fountain and approached the statue, placing a hand on the stone surface, eyes closing as he moved around it, searching. “You… have grown. You care about something.”
“I didn’t come here for you to peddle your philosophy, Magus,” Ar’s tone was annoyed.
“It’s a good thing, Ar, but feel free to continue to suppress your emotions,” he said before fingers found a notch in the stone. A seal broke, and his fingertip wiggled a small block of stone around the backside of its leg. “But I don’t know a God like that, so I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Then you should tread carefully. You’re connected to this somehow, and this thing might pose a threat to even you,” Ar warned, looking up at the statue. Enough time has passed he could vaguely tell it was female and elvish. “Which one is this?”
“Gaea,” Magus answered. “Love and nature,” he added. His fingertip imbued the block with a faint kinetic energy, removing it like it were metal and his finger a magnet. It dropped to the floor of the fountain and he hovered a hand over a gap, using the same ability as a wooden tube sealed with failing and faltering yarn emerged, and slid into his hand gently. “She’s never had a presence in this world.”
“Did you find what you’re looking for,” Ar asked.
“Indeed,” Magus replied. “This will take me to the next of countless steps,” he turned and looked directly at Ar.
Ar looked back. The contentious nature of these two men was all full display, with no audience to reveal it. Neither wanted to speak, and each had his own visions of the past roiling in the back of their minds, dredging up negative sentiment.
Finally Magus spoke, “if I find out anything you need to know, I’ll find you. I expect you to do the same.”
“Agreed,” Ar said. But did he?
Back at the camp, men and a few elves rolled in. It’d been two hours since the battle, and the sun was setting. Arnor came in sullen, exhausted, as more people piled into the camp, welcomed by women and children, some running to hug, as others lumbered in with no place to call home, taking seats by fires or collapsing into the dirt.
A girl, young, dirty, but beautiful, came rushing up, skirt plucked high to jog, moving up to Arnor. “Where is Kendell, where is my brother?”
Anror shook his head, eyes welling with fluid and beginning to leak, he opened his mouth to speak but had nothing his mind would parse as acceptable and he moved forward and the pair collapsed into a hug. The girl cried as he held her, petting her hair, for minutes and some rejoiced, and screams of emotional trauma for those who did return lit the air.
After some moments, Arnor broke from the hug, cupped each of her cheeks in his hands and whispered. “Go be with your niece, she is yours now.”
Arnor rose to his feet. “Tomorrow,” he hollered. “Tomorrow we send scouts, and if need be we take that keep. It’s our hope. It’s our start to forge a land of our own, and finally be free without the green terrors that rip us from this world.”
He almost stumbled as he took a few steps back and made his way for his tent, dirt caked hands smearing streaks as he wiped away his tears. “Gods, why have you forsaken us,” he said quietly to himself as he pulled the shroud of the entrance and went inside. He moved to his lamp, feeling out his matches and struck it, inserting into the oil to light it. He collapsed on his broken cot, and pile of blankets, looking across the cloth room to see… Magus.
The white haired man held a finger over his own lips. To shush him, as he approached and sat cross legged on the floor across from Arnor.
“You’re… you’re alive…” his face was wrought with confusion. “I did as you said, I don’t even know why, but we escaped… What happened?” He kept hushed tones per Magus request.
“The keep is yours,” Magus explained. “I’ve burned the bodies, none escaped to tell the other tribes, and few others have interest in holing up in the side of a mountain.”
“Who was that man, your brother? Was that magic?” Arnor asked.
“No, and no… Just... take a deep breath, I’m going to explain everything my friend. You deserve to know who and what I am,” Magus said, as he removed his gauntlets from each hand, and placed them in his lap. Magus’ eyes glowed in the dim light, the unnatural blue iris collecting a reflecting light at the target of his vision, and he looked Arnor directly in the eye, “if you had the power and had a choice between saving an entire world for a people, and creating what you thought was paradise, or empowering them with the conviction and the chance to create their own world, what would you do?”