Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Isk]

---

Chapter 12

Montor...

The sun’s journey across the celestial heavens was half complete when the Magnate and his son ventured into the black corner of Ilshanar through the gate of Chaos. The land and it’s denizens provided obstacles as Isk and Athlon made their way north towards what was to be Bailos’ forge, a platform surrounded by bubbling lava. Thick sulfur hung in the air as the porcelain masked warrior descended the stairs down into the fires below only stopping on the last step, the flat side of his boots just above the lava.

The scene had an odd calmness to it. With the balron having been lured away by Isk’s cunning both he and his son were in relative safety. In the distance Athlon pulled on a lever, ever curious about new places Isk’s son found ways to entertain himself while Isk studies the fires. With the sun baking against the back of his head and the vapours of the liquid flame rising up beneath him Isk knew that this was the place where the transmutation of the Axe of Evil into the Gorget of Evil would take place. Serenity, calmness, tranquillity. Who would have though that such an evil place would look so beautiful.

“The mercenaries I’ve hired for our future protection will make the perfect witnesses for what is to come.” Isk spoke to himself as he turned his masked face from the lava and began to ascend the steps towards his son, the fumes from the lava working their way through his body with each spoken word. “Especially Jon Silverthorne, he seemed eager to provide his service.” Forming a smile beneath his mask Isk glanced at Athlon as the child now held his weapon scouting for danger. “They will spread what they will see so that all know of my greatness”

A bubble of lava erupted from within the fiery lake but Isk payed it no heed. “The forge lies within the lava.” He narrowed his eyes, nearly hearing Kaigetsu’s voice of confirmation even though the Helm was not on his person.

“What did you say da?” Athlon asked from a distance having thought his father spoke to him.

“There is something in the lava, my son” Isk responded. “Something we’ll bring to the surface to help Bailos with the smelting.” The child’s mouth widened beneath his mask to those words. “How we gonna do that?” Athlon asked curiously. “The Helm will provide the means. When Bailos is ready. But now, let us go from this place before the balron returns.”

For a time Isk could not read the expression in his son’s eyes. The Magnate had already told his son that the Axe of Evil was to be smelted and the child relented to his father’s words as all good children should even though he obviously cared for the axe. Athlon nodded his blue masked head and used his runebook to spirit himself out of Montor.





Isk took a final breath of the polluted air. He narrowed his envy green eyes and felt his damp mane of white hair cling to his head from the heat. The Magnate felt the shirt beneath his armour bond to him like a second layer of skin. For a moment he felt his strength give out and he almost collapsed onto the hard hot stone of the place. Coughing he felt his eyes become glazed and for a time he looked like the drug addict he used to be. The feeling of weakness returned and with it came a growing anger. He felt resentment for this place. How could a place so beautiful be so deadly? A subtle malice, a slow corruption. “Am I being corrupted?” Isk asked himself through fits of coughing as he spaced out his feet to take on a firmer stance. “Will I die at the end of this quest?” Anger, anger gave the Magnate the needed strength to go on. The strength to get out. His muscles tensed, his heart quickened and his legs moved sending Isk dashing away from the lake of lava and it’s deadly vapours.

“Bailos, you better not fail!” Isk shouted to the darkening sky as he jumped through the moongate exiting into Magincia Trammel. But when the Magnate reached the safety Trammel provided a new thought mixed into the chaos of his mind. “Why was my son not affected by those fumes? He is young and his body is not as strong as mine” The answer was both pleasant and frightening. “Kaigetsu said his destiny is greater than mine.” And just then he relived a previous thought, what if he, Isk, died and his son took his place at the end of this quest.

Chapter 13

Isk nearly fell to his knees, his breath coming in savage gasps as his body began to fail him. He pushed his lank, long white hair from his eyes and looked forward with satisfaction. As Florance Gipping helped Isk maintain his balance the Magnate held the Helm of Evil as the dark artifact called forth Kaigetsu’s forge from deep within the lava. As Bailos stood before the rising anvil Isk could only imagine the mage-smith grinning in satisfaction.

“Witness something amazing” Isk spoke to his son and the assembled mercenaries. Aside from himself, Bailos and Athlon, Siaron Nuar and one of her companions took position to the left hand of the Magnate. Jon Silverthorne positioned himself to the right as three uncouth but determined mercenaries positioned themselves behind him. Isk did not know their names but they had been effective in dragging the golden Balron from the place. These men where here for the reward, Isk could tell. He knew when greed dominated curiosity.

The ritual had begun. Bailos began to chant to the heavens as the bubbling lava frothed onto portions of the stone walkway. With his bare hands the lord of Sanctus began to work the hard metal as if his hands were hammers.

* * * * * * *

Bent forward in his throne the dark one clutched at his quiet heart. The pain was intense. Kaigetsu felt each strike as the hand of the mage-smith descended upon the now twisted Axe of Evil. The Axe of Evil much like the other artifacts blessed with his mark held a link to the dark lord’s soul. Never in the history of the Hand of Evil had one of the artifacts been destroyed and for the first time since before he shattered his prison realm Kaigetsu felt his essence scream out in pain. It was not an entirely frightening experience for he knew that neither Isk nor Bailos wished the item any harm. The material of the weapon would remain in it’s new form and thus Kaigetsu’s soul would stay in tact.

Calling for reserves of strength Kaigetsu forced himself from his throne and staggered forward into the bleak and abysmal landscape. For a time it was as if he would be swallowed by it, becoming just another bent and hideous oddity but he had to move. He had to get his mind off the pain. Extending his hands to the strange thundering sky as he twisted and turned his body Kaigetsu entered the dance that had always given him comfort...

* * * * * * * * *

Thousands of years ago...

The Imperial Palace was a place where one could easily become lost, full of twisting passageways and the circuitous, often inexplicable architecture that only results from centuries of modification. Visitors were well advised to remain in well known hallways and let Imperial Guardsmen guide their paths. Even those who dwelled here never mastered every secret corridor and hidden chamber. For those few with free reign to travel the palace at will, it was thus a simple matter to find solitude.
In the more well known and illuminated passages of the palace, the nobility of the Empire gathered in celebration. Just one week ago the Emperor’s youngest son had broken his year long sickness. It was a fine excuse for socializing, gossiping, and political manoeuvring. Little Chian who had been ushered into the Imperial city only eight months ago to learn the methods of rulership suddenly saw his friends turn from him at the behest of their parents, reacquainting themselves with an heir no longer on his death bed. They spent their time courting the favor of his cousin, the charismatic boy that would one day be Emperor. Chian had at first yearned for the days of play when all the noble born children jumped at the chance to entertain him, always letting him win at the games. How cruel fate was to give strength back to the Emperor’s son.

But now on the seventh day Chian danced as he always did. His neat white hair swirling here and there. The child performed the traditional steps for lord moon, the celestial husband to the sun. It was a foreign dance practised only by the priests of Isamu Island. When little Chian performed it people had always come to watch, perhaps expecting to be seen when fortune favoured Chian for the imperial throne. Now the courtiers only walked past with their fans covering their lips, whispering. Whispering about the strange foreign child who danced like a girl and almost stole the throne.

“I am stronger alone”

He had just begun to believe those words. He told himself that independence offered him a strength his cousin would never know. He mused that the time he did not waste at play was better used improving his mind, rededicating himself to perfecting the ritual dance. While his cousin became beloved and worshipped by all, he would ultimately be the better man. He had few friends who were loyal to him but none of them were women. Chian had always feared and distrusted women due to the traumatic antics of his grandmother and her wandering hands. He would never marry, he would never court a woman nor entertain the prospect of being with men. Love in all its forms was no longer an option. Noting lasts. Nothing. Chian would remain focussed. He would use his friends. Society turned its back on him, he would show everyone how wrong they were to discard him.

* * * * * * *

The present...





Surrounded by sulphurous hell Bailos, the mage-smith, let his fist fall across the twisted anvil once more, pounding out a steady rhythm that echoed into the night. His workshop, a volcanic chamber located north of the Chaos moongate held no light other than the pulsing fires of the lakes of lava. The mage-smith scowled down at the hunk of black steel that lay before him, bending it into the form of a gorget with his boundless will. He lifted his hand another time, and pain shot through his body as the ritual he had worked on for weeks continued to play out. At last when the final strike of lighting cascaded into the metal the new Gorget of Evil rested where the Axe of Evil once dwelled.

“It is just like you said, father” Athlon stated as he made a move towards Bailos. “This is what the axe-man wanted.”

Isk only nodded as he followed his son’s movements, his envy green eyes clouded by sulferous fumes. The porcelain masked Magnate halted his son in his tracks calling for Jon to hand him the gorget instead. Isk grinned as he watched the hesitation now evident in his son but the child obeyed and remained in place while Jon took the new Gorget of Evil from Bailos’ tired hands.

“Now all that is missing is the Chest of Evil” Isk stated to those who now crowded around him. With great satisfaction the Magnate lifted himself to his full height and passed the Helm of Evil to his son. With both of his hands he took the newly forged gorget from Jon. Closing his eyes Isk cradled the item to his heart.

One more...