Son of Strife Excerpt: Kalvairn's tale

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Well, this is an excerpt from the massive project I'm currently working on: Son of Strife.

It is taking up so much of my leisure writing time that I can barely work on anything else. Flight of the Black Crane is still being written, though an update is long overdue.

Here's the story of the most evil elf ever!

Let me know what you think, eh?

**************************************************

The companions sat in a circle, resting their weary frames after a day of warfare. The Blackguards had trounced yet another renegade warlord. Come the morning, they would break camp and return to the capital city. The sounds of boisterous carousing filled the night air as the triumphant warriors celebrated their victory.

Ander had already dozed off, inebriated after countless flasks of ale. Their leader, Arkados, sat upon an upturned crate, looking down at the mightiest of his followers: the sorcerer Kalvairn, his sister Katherine, and the swordsman called Shura. Arkados raised his hand and gestured in Kalvairn’s direction.

“ We are ready to hear your tale, Kalvairn. Tell us of your betrayal.” He proclaimed. Katherine and Shura nodded at the sorcerer as well. Kalvairn sighed, both in gratitude and regret at the opportunity to illustrate and thus relive his pain. His long, slim fingers ran down the surface of his ever-present skull mask almost tremulously.

“ Very well.” Kalvairn spoke in his harsh, rasping voice. “ Once, my features were not hidden beneath this hideous device. Once, my hands were untainted with evil and violence…”

**************************************************

Once, the elf known as Arutha knew grief, kneeling before the grave of his lover. Bright flowers were strewn liberally around her headstone, for she was greatly loved in life. The mourners have all departed, tears streaming down their faces as they whispered their condolences to Arutha. Their words meant little to the grief stricken elf. Their kindness meant less. Imenestria’s corpse lay rotting under the mound of earth before him. She had been called Quicksilver. So swift could she loose arrows from her bow and so accurate were her shafts that she was only second in prowess to Aalariel Moonbow, the legendary Ranger of Quelan’ti’lael.

Her skill availed her naught against the menace that claimed her life. As he kneeled there before her grave in the rain, his grief faded, numbing into a dull ache within his soul. He felt pain in his forearms and he looked down. His fingers had stiffened themselves into claws for so long that his nerves and muscles cried out in agony. He brought his claws to his face and felt his nails dig into his smooth cheeks. The pain was exquisite, delightful even. Blood flowed down his arms but he did not relent. His shoulders began heaving and it took him a few moments to realize that he was chuckling and had been doing so for some time already. His fingers tore bloody furrows across his face as he shrieked in sudden, crazed laughter that filled his ears over the fall of rain.

It was then that he heard the voice.
“ What do you desire?” It was powerful, sonorous, and sinister. Arutha was immediately aware of its evil nature but he answered nevertheless. The Moon Goddess’s precepts had failed him. The Matriarch’s teachings have proven to be ineffectual. There was no one he could turn to. No goddess. No beliefs.

“ Power!” He sobbed, his voice breaking.

“ To what end?”

Arutha hesitated. He knew that resurrection was beyond even the power of gods. Nothing could return Imenestria to him. He could never rejoin her, save in death. But yet, a new emotion now bubbled through him, feeding him with strength beyond anything his love for Imenestria had ever provided. He no longer wanted to die. He wanted…He did not know what he wanted.

“ To what end?” The voice asked again. The rain stung the wounds upon his face, making him wince in pain. Yes. That was it. Pain. He would inflict pain on Imenestria’s killer. He would make the killer suffer…he would…Arutha recoiled instinctively at his own thoughts. All his life, he had shunned any notion of violence. He had abhorred the use of force and had always been peaceable. It was the way of Quelan’ti’lael. It was the way of the elves. Only the Rangers were allowed to commit acts of violence in the defense of their people. Yet, there was a flame burning within him. It was a dark flame, writhing and implacable. It filled him with a desire for…pain. He began his sobbing laugh again, hysteria filling his voice.

“ To what end?” The voice now had a beguiling quality to it. Arutha knew that whatever being that voice belonged to, it already knew the answer. It simply wanted him to put his desire into words. Words that when spoken aloud, were damning.

“ To what end?” Arutha got to his feet and turned his back on Imenestria’s grave. He spread his arms and shrieked his response.

“ Death! Death and Destruction!” Those words nailed his soul firmly onto the path of damnation. As his words echoed away into silence, he could almost envision the smile upon the lips of the otherworldly presence. It was a smile that bared sharp, black fangs.

“ Good.”

**************************************************

The Matriarch’s librarian blinked in surprise at his unexpected visitor. It was past midnight and the moon was high in the sky, hardly the time for reading. He roughly recognized the cut of his visitor’s robe, though. It marked him as one of the Matriarch’s students.

“ Greetings, esteemed scholar.” The librarian bowed in the visitor’s direction. “ Truly, your yearning for knowledge is commendable but it is better if you returned in the morning.”

“ No. I require the knowledge I seek immediately.” The visitor replied. The librarian blinked again in recognition at the visitor’s voice.

“ Arutha? What are you doing here at this unseemly hour?” He asked gently, being well aware of the student’s recent loss.

“ I require a number of volumes.” Arutha explained. “ I know where they are so do not trouble yourself.”

“ You wish to look at them? Of course, let me get some light first.” The librarian produced a small rod from a pocket in his cloak and muttered a word. Silvery light fell from its length, illuminating the immediate area around the librarian.

“ I do not wish to look at them. I wish to take them.” Arutha said.

“ Preposterous! I cannot simply let you remove volumes from the Matriarch’s collection!” The librarian replied, more than a little flustered at the student’s unreasonable request.

“ You have no choice.” Came the reply. “ Step aside. Do not hinder me.”

“ Arutha? What is wrong with you?” The librarian raised his light rod so that some light fell on the student. He gasped in fear and disgust. “ What have you done with your face?”

“ Enough. My patience wears thin.” Arutha shoved past the librarian and made his way down the shelves until he came to a door bound by silver chains.

“ These are the forbidden tomes! No elf is allowed to look upon them except for the Matriarch!” The librarian who had followed behind muttered, now at a total loss regarding Arutha’s behavior. “ What is this madness that has possessed you?”

Arutha bared his lips in a smile, twisting the wounds on his face grotesquely. “ I am not mad. Far from it. I have never felt so sane.”

“ You need help, Arutha. Stay here and I’ll summon a healer.” The librarian turned to go but Arutha caught him by the wrist.

“ The wards will incinerate the first person that opens the door.” He said, as if distantly recalling a fact.

“ That is why you should not touch it!” The librarian replied. “ Come with me, Arutha. I will get you some herbs to calm your nerves.”

Arutha turned to face the librarian who stared curiously at the object held in the student’s free hand. His eyes widened in shock. It was a knife! He opened his mouth to cry for help but Arutha rammed the blade into his throat clumsily. Blood spurted. The librarian gasped breathlessly, scrabbling at his gaping throat wound until a hand seized the collar of his robes and shoved him into the warded door.

There was a sudden flash of light, followed by the crackle and stench of burning flesh. The flames dancing upon the corpse cast Arutha’s bloodstained, grinning face in flickering shadows as he opened the door and looked upon ancient tomes of arcane power.

**************************************************

A few hours later, Arutha labored under the moonlight in a clearing some distance away from Quelan’ti’lael. A drugged elf child lay half-senseless nearby, still in his silk bedclothes. Arutha engraved a pentagram and the required runes copied from one of the stolen arcane tomes with his bloodstained knife. Sweat and blood beaded his face and there was a feverish air to his movements but he went about his task tirelessly.

At length, the arcane diagram was completed and he placed the elf child in the center. He stroked the child’s head gently.

“ This will hurt…forever.” Arutha pulled the child’s head back and drew his knife across the slender throat. Blood gushed from the wound and streamed into the center of the pentagram. Arutha discarded his knife and picked up the arcane tome he had left open. Holding its pages up to the moonlight, he began to recite the irregular syllables that would allow him to commune with the presence that had contacted him more intimately, offering the child’s soul as an eternal plaything to the being that had promised him power.

The clearing was suddenly bathed in sanguine light. Shadows danced at the edges of Arutha’s vision like malevolent tentacles belonging to some unspeakable horror. Still, the elf’s voice did not falter. Such was his strength of will and courage that he completed the incantation down to the very last word with perfect enunciation. There was a sudden rift in the air above the child’s bleeding corpse and it widened into a giant maw filled with black, misshapen fangs. It opened and bit down on a wisplike thing emerging from the child. Arutha fancied he heard a childlike scream of profound terror and agony beyond the perceptions of his consciousness.

“ Your offer is pleasing.” The maw spoke. Arutha let the arcane tome fall from nerveless fingers. He knew now that he was in the presence of a god. He sank to his knees and abased himself in worship.

“ Who are you, mighty lord?” He stammered. The maw smiled, as if pleased by the question.

“ I am called Vladiros the Chaos Talon, champion of the Anarchist. I know who you are, elf, and I am pleased to deliver you from the lies and weakness of the Moon Goddess.” It said, every word making Arutha cringe in fear and awe.

“ I shall serve you, lord! Anything in your name! Anything for your glory!” He babbled.

“ And so you shall. Heed my instructions, elf! Take the tomes you have acquired and journey south! You shall come to a great tomb. There, one of my oldest servants awaits you. Present yourself to him and he shall fulfill the covenant between the two of us.” Vladiros answered.

“ Power?” He who was once Arutha wondered. The maw smiled once again.

“ No.” The god said. “ Death. Death and destruction.”

It took a month of traveling to get to the tomb. Kalvairn Levensrau hid his features as he traveled through human lands, stealing and murdering to survive. He prayed to Vladiros nightly and offered sacrifices to his new god whenever he could and the Chaos Talon granted Kalvairn the privilege of manifesting his divine might in the world as a priest of Chaos. He could beseech the Chaos Talon to heal his wounds and blight his foes and the vile god would oblige in return for the elf’s worship and prayers.

He arrived at the tomb after dusk. A skeletal figure clad in ruined finery awaited him. It addressed him in a desiccated, unearthly voice.

“ I have been expecting you, fellow slave of Vladiros. I am Albencht the Lich, and I have been kept from my rightful hell for centuries awaiting your arrival.” The creature said.

“ Centuries?” Kalvairn replied. Horror filled thoughts swirled through his head. “ But this means…”

“ Yes. The Chaos Talon has foreseen the road you will take a long time ago. He knew you would come to his service. He told me your name eighty years ago, Kalvairn Levensrau. You are his chosen champion, and my replacement.” Albencht elaborated, a tinge of sardonic humor in the tone of his speech.

“ Your replacement?” Kalvairn asked. “ Who are you? What is the purpose for our meeting?”

Albencht gestured with a skeletal hand and mumbled a single word. A mighty gust of wind buffeted Kalvairn, ripping at his robes and his pack. The arcane tomes he had murdered his brethren for tumbled to his feet.

“ I shall make you the greatest sorcerer this world has ever seen, and woe unto those who cross you!” The lich announced.

**************************************************

“ What? What do you mean you are unable to stop him?” Vretranor the Necromancer shrieked at his apprentice. The pale young man cowered under Vretranor’s anger.

“ All your other apprentices have been killed, sir!” The apprentice stammered. “ The intruder has negated all your wards and slain all your guardsmen!”

“ What about the Corpse Legion? Have I not told you to send them into the fray?” Vretranor demanded. No earthly force could prevail before his collection of a thousand animated armed corpses tainted with a malevolent taste for blood.

“ Sir…” The apprentice became even paler. “ He has seized control of the Corpse Legion. Even now, he is directing the Corpse Legion in the slaughter of your wives and children.”

As if on cue, a woman’s terrified shriek echoed down the hallways of Vretranor’s stronghold. It was cut off abruptly, followed by a few wet gurgles and the sound of tearing flesh.

“ No…who is this? Who is this being that has brought my ruin?” Vretranor slumped on his chair in helpless dismay. He had lived a long, prosperous life. With his necromantic arts, he had carved for himself a domain in the war-stricken kingdom of Gryloas. Men and elves have fallen to his undying legions. Now, a single sorcerer has breached his fortress, overcome all his defenses and brought his domain crashing down around him.

The door to his audience chamber burst open in a shower of wood and metal. As the smoke cleared, Vretranor made out the silhouette of an elf with a slim, metallic staff in his hands. The elf’s face was hideously scarred and a look of fearsome delight adorned his features. Behind him, the gray, decomposing bodies of the Corpse Legion shambled in, each of them cradling the mutilated remains of Vretranor’s wives and children in their hands.

“ You bastard!” Vretranor shrieked in impotent fury. “ Who are you? Why have you done this?”

The elf began advancing, his staff held casually in his hands. There was a crazed look in his once beautiful eyes. When he spoke, his voice was like the melody of an un-tuned harp: lovely yet discordant.

“ The High Forest, forty years ago…” He said. Vretranor clapped his hands and mumbled an incantation before gesturing in the elf’s direction. A shrieking skull manifested in the air before the necromancer and it flew towards the elf, gnashing its teeth all the while.

The skull never got close. It bounced off an invisible shield around the elf. He continued walking towards Vretranor. “ Two elves. One of them a maiden, lovely as the sun, more beautiful than the moon…”

“ Die!” Vretranor pulled out a copper rod, aimed it at the elf, and shrieked a series of arcane syllables. A bolt of lightning split the air, incinerating his unfortunate apprentice as it streaked towards his adversary. The elf hefted his staff and spat out his own incantation. The bolt of lightning veered away to crash uselessly into the walls of his stronghold.

“ Then!” The elf’s eyes widened maniacally. “ Pain! Evil! Torment! Death! Death! Death!’

“ What are you talking about, you mad fool?” Vretranor began gesturing in the air again, the arcane words pouring from his lips promising doom for the insolent intruder. The elf leveled his staff at the necromancer and loosed his own spell. A disc of shadow cut across the chamber to sever Vretranor’s right hand at the wrist. The necromancer shrieked in agony and clutched at his bleeding stump, his spell lost.

Kalvairn walked right up to him and loomed over Vretranor’s thrashing form. He discarded his staff and took the necromancer’s head in his hands before looking him in the eyes. “ But it was after…the sorrow…the sorrow…by all the gods…the sorrow…”

“ Go to hell, you whoreson!” Vretranor mumbled, delirious from the loss of blood. Kalvairn’s hands burst into green flame, enveloping the necromancer’s head. Vretranor shrieked in agony while the elf threw his head back and laughed in sadistic delight.

“ Save me a place, my friend.” He said. “ Oh yes, save me a place.”

**************************************************

“ The Chaos Talon has fulfilled his end of the bargain to you.” Albencht told Kalvairn upon the elf’s return to the tomb where he had spent decades learning the art of sorcery.

“ He has.” Kalvairn agreed.

“ And now you must serve him.” The lich continued. It pointed a skeletal finger to the mask it wore. A grinning skull adorned it. “ Take this mask and put it on. By doing so, you shall send me to hell and take my place. I have waited too long for this.”

Kalvairn reached out and tore off the skull mask. Albencht’s skeletal body dissolved instantly, leaving the elf with the mask in his hands.

“ Goodbye, teacher. May you enjoy your eternal torment in the afterlife.” His words being the only eulogy for Albencht. He raised the mask high.

And then he put it on.

**************************************************

A band consisting of more than fifty Rangers set forth to bring Kalvairn Levensrau to justice upon the lich’s final death. It was as if the Chaos Talon no longer hid his servant’s presence from his enemies. They converged on Kalvairn and captured him, after a huge battle in which only six Rangers survived. Kalvairn Levensrau was sentenced to death and his sentence would be carried out upon his return to Quelan’ti’lael. It was on this journey that they encountered the man named Violence.

*************************************************

“ A fine tale, Kalvairn. Very fine indeed.” Arkados clapped his hands in applause, as did Katherine.

The sorcerer’s face was downcast, as if overcome by emotion. Arkados walked over to him and clasped him upon the shoulder.

“ But you have new aspirations now, have you not? You have a new vision to strive for and a new future to build.” He said, a grin upon his face. “ Tell me, mighty sorcerer. You now have power and you have wrought death and destruction upon all your foes. Tell me, what do you desire?”

Arkados’s choice of words had the sorcerer looking up at his leader, his features inscrutable as always behind his skull mask. Kalvairn’s hands trembled as they strove to grasp something intangible.

“ Justice…” Kalvairn whispered harshly. “ Justice…and then death.”

“ When your service to me is done, I shall see that you have both.” Arkados declared.

“ The Chaos Talon spoke to me when we first met. He has commended me into your service. Your vision now takes precedence over his, as far as I am concerned.” Kalvairn said. “ Thank you, Arkados Blackmire…thank you.”

“ Who is your master now, sorcerer?” The warlord asked.

“ You are.” Kalvairn bowed his head. “ You are my master and you will bring Justice.”

“ That I will.” Arkados swept away, his crimson cape swirling behind him. He gestured to his sister. “ Come, Katherine.”

The Blackmire siblings left, leaving Shura and an unconscious Ander behind with Kalvairn. The swordsman raised his hands before his face and clenched them. Kalvairn regarded him curiously.

“ What are you thinking, young warrior?” He asked. Shura sighed and let his hands fall.

“ You are no more a monster than I am, Kalvairn.” With those words, the easterner got to his feet and walked away into the darkness.

 

Yes! More Son of Strife! *punches the air enthusiastically* I love it! However, and I don't mean to nit pick, but...

At first when I read this I though Katherine was Kalvairn's sister, by the wording. You might want to list her first, and then Kalvairn.
But it's still all gold.

 

I like this.... wee! Kalvairn is just so cool.... *huggles Kalvairn*

Interesting concept, the "good" elves being led by a matriarch.

Although I must admit thethat the first part, where the setting for Kalvvairn's storytelling was set, seemed a bit... simplistic? to me. I am sure it'll fit better in a longer work.

I just love this

 

Alright Cool!!

Do we get the backgrounds for all of Shura's companions in evil by the campfire? One every week will be fine, thank you.

Son of Strife rules!

 

OOh, what a delightful thought! *swoons*

I admit, I am a huge Arkados fangirl. Live with it.

*huggles Arkados*

*toddles off to re-read all the Shura-stories*

 

Just brilliant, i would like to here Anders story tho, never got much background on him in the storys

 

*claps* Ah, that was great. I always love any piece of work you post on the boards!

 

Thanks for the comments, people.

As for Ander...well...he does not really have much of a backstory. It is explained in the 3rd part of Son of Strife anyway.

Basically, he's just a big thug with a big axe.

 

Question: we all know that Ander is a bit slow, at the very least, but was he born that way or was he (figuratively speaking) dropped on his head as a kid?

 

Good stuff as always, Shura. I wonder though, is it necessary to tell Kalvairn's past? I liked Kalvairn a lot better before, when he was still a mysterious sorcerer of whose past you only had vague ideas... Maybe it could be disclosed gradually instead of all at once? More appropriate for his character, methinks.

Probably just a matter of taste... Anyway, keep up the good work!