The Price of Valour

Jays

Olives and Fear
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
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  1. Prestige
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  1. Male
  2. Primarily Prefer Male
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The Kaelen Cathedral's bell tolls seven times.

The King is dead. Crumble and shatter did the pillar holding up the Kingdom of Tal, crumble and shatter did the faith holding up an entire people, their heart, their hope, their pride.

The savage Northern tribes of Marn press against the border. Unnatural steel and fire beasts of Kaar harry the harbour. The Merchant King Umann's ambition soars unchecked, unchallenged, eager to devour the Southern provinces at the first sign of weakness.

Meanwhile the High Houses of Tal squabble like spoiled children over the unravelling remnants of power, tearing the rift inevitably wider. The country teeters on the brink of .

For the first time in decades the Radiants are called home, dangerous men and women with unimpeachable training and moral who brought the King's justice across the land as judge, jury and executioner. Pawns in a larger game, weapons to be wielded, both the flint spark that feeds the pyre and the tempering cold to douse the raging flame at the same time.

The tumultuous turbulence at the heart of the world spins, devouring all in its grinding underdark of plots, schemes, and the game of a million pieces.


The price of valour is war.


Partially inspired by the Greatcoats Series by Sebastien de Castell
 
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Faith

Strangely enough, the thing that set him apart most was his beard. A small thing, inconsequential, but it was the most alien thing to them. They would stare and point and whisper, not because he was a savage Marn , or that he came to challenge their King in a Seclar, but because he had long facial hair. What an odd people.

The progression wound its way upward, through the sprawling streets of the Holy City toward the looming structure on top of the mountain. It was a sight to marvel in every sense, exotic animals from across seven kingdoms, towering machineries from the Island of Kaar, flowing tapestries sown by a thousand of King Umann's concubines. And him, they marched him high above all the rest in an exposed platform on top of a giant beast's back as the biggest wonder of them all, Ala Azim, Protector of Marn, the savage from the North, challenger of their beloved warrior King, the Unholy Demon. And the people came to see him because he had a strange beard. Ala didn't know if he should laugh, or be relieved.

Through the cobbled stone streets they went, a crowd of tens of thousands gawking and pointing as the Seclum loomed ever closer, blocking out the midday sun in a silhouetting brilliance, menacing in all of its glory. So close, now, the finality of his crusade. A calmness washed over him, and he could feel his God's whispering in the back of his mind, reassuring, stalwart. His faith has brought kingdoms to their knees, and it will again, this time the entire world. He believed, and in that belief he found tranquility.

The progression came to a screeching halt before the ancient gate of the Temple at the top of the world. The millennia old stone stood before him, a titan out of time, dark and weathered, vines encircling walls that rose high toward the clouds. Columns dotted the courtyard, most of them only shattered ruins like trees stumps in a forest of white marble. They would have looked glorious, once, a world's Wonder. But few had set foot in this holy place in centuries, much less cared for it. He could see the ocean from here, over the cliff face beyond the Temple. The breeze sent his hair billowing, and held his face in a gentle caress.

An uneasy quiet fell over the gathered crowd, rippling through their ranks until the massive courtyard was silent except for the stamping and grumbling of the beasts. A palpable weight replaced the noise, the presence of the Seclum itself towered above them, casting thousands in its all-encompassing shadow. The people of Tal held faith of their own, he realized, faith as bright and as unyielding as his, magnified by their endless masses until it was a tangible force pressing down on him, as thick as the silence.

His heart hammered like war drums, threatening to burst through his chest, pumping blood through his veins like a raging river. His vision expanded and snapped in with each beat. His fingers tingled and his beard itched uncontrollably. This is how it ends. This is history.

A booming noise cracked through the air like a whip, cutting through the quiet courtyard and shattering the reverance. A moaning creak followed, harsh and jarring as the gates swung open slowly. All attention was drawn toward the entrance where a radiant figure stepped through the opening with a stride of absolute, celestial confidence. His armour shone like the morning star, golden and polished to a mirror. His face was bright and proud, features inhumanly delicate, like a statue of granite and diamond. The mere presence of him sent awed murmurs rippling through the swarm of faces, many falling to their knees and prayed. Hyrde, the champion King of Tal, Godsent, warrior prophet. Invincible. This was the monster he was fighting. Ala's throat tightened and he swallowed, hard.

Hyrde's eyes found his and their gazes locked for a brief moment, then the Talman nodded once in greeting, before turning and marched back into the gloom of Seclum, its shadow devouring him whole. Slowly, deliberately, Ala climbed off his platform down to the ground. The crowd parted before him in waves and watched on in silent as he passed, pity in the eyes of many, glee in others', indifference in some. He was not the first to challenge their Godsent, and to them he would not be the last. Ala himself had doubts. But his faith was stronger still, and thus he persevered. The darkness devoured his form just as it did Tal's champion. The gate slammed shut behind him with a cacophonous boom, an absolute finality. What followed would only be his and Hyrde's.

Ala walked for what felt like centuries. His heart thundered and his spirit raged against his body, demanding blood. He started to discard unwieldy items on the way, his robe, knifes, wood horn, pouches. By the time he entered the chamber at the end of the passage, he was in his shirt and war skirt, and the only weapon left on him was his blade. The rest were redundant. If his blade wasn't going to be enough, nothing will.

Hyrde waited for him at the opposite end of the massive hall. The wall behind him had fallen away, revealing patches of sky and the ocean far beneath. The midday sun above the seas of swirling cloud silhouetted him like a golden halo. Right there, right then, he looked like a god, as holy as the stories made him out to be. His face was a mask of calmness and expectance, a gleaming sword already unsheathed and held loosely in his right palm.

Ala took a moment to breath the scene in, savouring the salty air he had rarely tasted before. A beautiful place to die, he thought.

Hyrde did not speak. There was no need, just as there was no reconciling between their gods, no chance of peace or undoing of centuries of wars. It would end this day.

The two men faced each other. They looked through one another, at the other's god, at their faith and honour. In more ways than one, they were the same, the savage and the prophet. The echoing wind howled a chilling note.

Hyrde moved with blinding speed, covering their distance in a single stride and thrusted. Ala barely moved out of the way before the other man's blade shot through the place where his stomach had been. He stumbled backward, using the momentum of the first retreat to avoid the another lightning slash, and almost failed to parry the next one. The force of the blow reverberated through his arms nearly breaking his grip. The Talman was stronger than faster than anyone he had ever fought, even Godsents. Completely abandoning his stance, Ala threw himself as hard as he could away, out of reach of the other man's blade, trying to reset the tempo of the duel and regain his composure. Hyrde did not follow, instead withdrew his arm and fell into a relaxing pose, allowing his opponent to catch their breath. His eyes did not sneer or frown in disapproval, only watched evenly with that unchanging intensity.

Already Ala's muscle burned from the the sudden exertion. A bad sign, he thought absently as his attention focused to a dagger point onto Hyrde's midsection, watching for movement. His god's whispering had gone silent in the back of his mind.

This time, Ala charged the Godsent. Unlike his opponent's controlled precision, his was a ferocious flurry of quick slices aimed to bleed rather than fatally wound. Hyrde met his attack with ease, too much ease, dodging the first two then caught the third on the crossguard of his sword, sliding it to one side. Ala was prepared for it even if he had hoped otherwise. As his blade was swatted aside, he rolled with the parry's momentum and dashed forward shoulder-first, aiming to surprise the Godsent with a body hit to push him off balance. It had worked before against even the best of swordsmen. But they were human still, and, he realized too late, the Talman was not. Hyrde deftly stepped backward, casual but impossibly fast, fouling Ala's reach and causing his shoulder hit too low for leverage. His bracing foot caught awkwardly and slipped, throwing him onto the ground. Ala’s heart roared in panic as he rolled away as fast as he could, fully expecting a counter thrust to connect and skewer him to the floor. None came.

Ala rose to his feet to find Hyrde standing where he was in the exact position of his last parry, unmoving, looking at him as if watching an exotic animal. Ala charged again, feinting left and striking right. Hyrde knocked his sword out of his grip with a single upward slash, faster and harder than he could even registered, and by the time he could react the Talman could have ended him several times over. Still he stood unmoving, allowing Ala to retrieve his blade, which he did hesitantly. The Godsent was toying with him, Ala realized. All this time, the battle could have ended at the first strike, but he was playing with his opponent, taking his time to watch the other man squirm. A chill ran down Ala's spine and froze his inside with despair. What kind of monster was he fighting?

Still he did not relent, did not forfeit. Again and again he charged the Godsent with everything he had, and again and again he was struck down. The Talman, it would seem, did not intend to let him die with honour, he planned to beat it out of him first. How many before him, Ala wondered, how many had broken and begged for their lives only to finally be cut down like dogs? None had ever discovered what happened to those who challenged Tal's warrior prophet, only that they had never returned. Did he throw them through the ruined wall into the ocean, perhaps? Left them to bleed out on the dusty marble floor, feeding the Seclum with their dying blood?

He could barely lift his arm, now. His fingers were completely numb, and he only managed to cling onto his blade with sheer will. The floor shook violently. Perhaps that was just his vision, or his knees. His breath wheezed in ragged struggle, steaming in the frozen air.

The serene expression was no longer on Hyrde's face. In its place was one of aimless melancholy and weary boredom.

"Why?" Ala spoke for the first time, his voice an alien thing to his ear, barely above a croak, made more guttural by his Marn accent.

"Why, what?" Hyrde replied, his brows furrowing. His voice was even and his breath controlled, his accent perfectly clipped and magnetic. The voice of a king.

"Why the ritual? Why the prolonged humiliation?" The brief pause regained Ala some energy, enough to allow him to speak without labouring. He started to move again, although managing only a slow shuffle, circling the Talman. "Why accept challenges at all?"

"I was bored." Hyrde said evenly. He moved to mirror Ala, keeping their distance unchanged. "I thought you of all people would be more of a challenge."

"So you trick them here, break them and slaughter them like pigs?" Ala pushed himself further upright with his sword, eyes never leaving the Godesent's face. He could hear hatred flooding his words.

"Oh please, trick is such a tawdry term. They came of their own free will. I merely humoured them, and myself, for a brief period of time." Hyrde's movement was relaxed, his blade held by loosely at his side half-disregarded.

"What are you? You are no Godsent, you only pretended to be one." His legs shook with exhaustion and he almost stumbled, but caught himself. "No Godsent has power like you."

"Depends on the god. Yours and all the others, they are nothing, broken fragments, pieces on a larger game. And mine is the one who moves the pieces." Hyrde's voice didn't rise in contempt or drop in savage glee. Somehow that was worse.

Ala's circling halted as realization came to him. "Apocalypse." He murmured in awe and fear.

The Godsent was silent. No denial. His presence loomed to a giant in Ala's mind, horrible, inevitability streaming like tendrils of shadow.

Suddenly they found themselves where they had started, Hyrde with the blinding sun at his back, and Ala facing him. As if they had not moved at all. As if it had all been a lucid dream, the nightmare fashioned out of Ala's fears and demons.

The whisper in the back of Ala's mind had been gone for a while now. No guidance nor aid from his god.

Countless shadows passed through Ala Azim's features. Pain, regret, longing. At last his face settled in an expression of resigned determination. Slowly, painfully, he raised his sword and lock a stance as best he could with his drained and battered body.

The Godsent sighed. "Very well, then. I will make it quick." He raised his own blade, casually.

The moment had to be perfect. One mistake and his chance would pass. He never thought it would come to this. But Ala Azim had been prepared to die.

The Seclum was the world's peak, far above the clouds where the harsh and unforgiving Talian sun shone the brightest and unobstructed. Its powerful and blinding light shot through the frigid air, through the ruined wall, reflected off Ala's blade and into the Talman's eyes. Not even a thing as powerful as him, it appeared, was immune to that.

Hyrde's eyes snapped shut as he stumbled in astonishment, and Ala charged him again, one final time. Even blinded and confused, the Godsent felt his approach and lashed out, inhumanly fast. The blade caught Ala's side and cut deep, sinking into his ribs. But it was not enough. With all of his might fueled by faith and agony, Ala threw his full weight against Hyrde's, and together they tumbled through the ruined wall into open air.

He felt a momentary satisfaction at the Godsent's scream, and then the rocks below rushed up to meet them.

A fall was all it took to end the biggest dynasty the world had ever seen.