From Rashemen with Love

[MadSeer]

It's a hard thing to forget.

Two young souls, released into the wild to discover a harsh and cruel world on their own. Left to count only on each other for survival, pitted against spirits, monsters, bandits...Were they from anywhere else it would've seemed like a cruel fate, but their homeland had shaped them in her image: strong, resilient, unforgiving. She was wise beyond her years and he was as strong as five men. The brain and the brawn, might and magic. They shared a bond. He was her warden and she was his adviser, leader. One's life depended on the other's. For a moment they might even seem invincible, completing one another, two parts of a hole. But it was just a façade.


“Danyaska!”
The powerful scream broke the midnight silence of the Viridale forest as he woke in a startle, sweating profusely and breathing heavily. Just another nightmare, he thought aloud to himself, just another nightmare, as he hung his head between his legs and started to sob.

[MadSeer]

"Oh, lighten up you grump!" The young woman placed an arm around his shoulders, beaming. "This is going to be our last year of freedom! After that, I'll get old and wrinkly and you'll be an ugly runescarred warrior!" The hathran in training was more cheerful than her sisters, she had a spark of life within her that made her stand apart. It was a trait the warrior had always found attractive, even if he was a bit of a grump himself.

"Danyaska, we don't like foreigners for a reason, it's a bad place out there. You can't trust anyone." The woman sighed at his lack of enthusiasm, then took his hand and forced him along. Even if he was reluctant, the rashemi enjoyed the thought of spending the next year alone with her. He smiled slightly "This darjemma might bring some good after all."

------

"...some good after all." The words quietly escaped his lips as he stared at the open sea, from the bridge in Sestra. As far as he was concerned, he had lost everything in this darjemma, his grim expression now a witness of it.

[MadSeer]

It had now been over a year since the murder of Danyaska, but Raman would always remember it, crystal clear, as if it had been but a day before. He was forced to watch as her life was taken away, helpless. A memory that burned like fire, that made his blood boil. During that year, he wandered aimlessly. Far from the east, far from Rashemen. The only relief, the only motivation, that kept him going was his rage and hatred. Sorrow and grief were replaced by ecstatic joy when he let that mindless anger free. Blood and limbs freely flew around, and in this chaotic carnage he found peace. But barely for a minute. Then the memories came back and, asleep, the nightmares plagued his mind.

"You will see her again in the afterlife."
"...this is not what she would want."
"I have failed her in her life, and I am failing her in her death."

Were she physically here, Raman knew his witch would be ashamed of him. Danyaska was a dreamer, a lover and a good soul. Raman had become an empty husk, without purpose. Something she would hate and despise. But the Rashemi would redeem himself -- he was born to be a savage guardian, a barbaric warden. He would see Danyaska again in the afterlife, but until then, he would make his beloved proud.

Among the unstoppable berserkers of Rashemen, one kind stood apart. The strongest and meanest of the warriors. A handful would force even a dozen Thayan knights to think twice. Not only capable of incredible feats of strength, they also drew power from the divine. The stories say the most deadly can move across a battlefield in the blink of an eye, enemy spells bouncing off them just as steel breaks against their skin. They are the ultimate guardians of Rashemen and Her people. They are the Runescarred.

[MadSeer]

The rashemi looked thoughtfully at his reflection in the water. The bleeding had stopped and it was finally completed. The first of his runescar, proudly inscribed on the right side of his face. The process of trial and error he had gone through to achieve it had been painful, exhausting and draining - but he knew that it would pay off. This was only the first of many steps, but it was a start. Redemption would come and so would a new life.

Raman had been recruited by Nature's Vanguard, the Viridale was his home and it's animal denizens his charges. Protect the forest, the animals. Watch over the wanderers or lost souls that made their way to the forest or deliver merciless wrath to the ones that would harm it. Lumberjacks with no consideration for the harm they cause, greedy entrepreneurs or those that would disturb nature and life itself - necromancers.

The Black Hand had captured Mirakus Post, before the rashemi had arrived. But it was soon that the Corps de Grace had asked his help in the defense of Sestra. The forces of the dark god had likely no intention to stop with the Post - a recent massive assault against Sestra the proof of it - and sooner or later, the war would spill to the forest. Raman had seen the forces occupying the Post and he knew he was no match for their army. Even as strong as he was, he most likely was among the weakest of the Vanguard. They were impressive warriors, stalkers and archers. A long road lied ahead of him, but he was intent on making the journey.

[MadSeer]

Under the shade of a large oak, in one of the few safe locations of the Viridale woods, the Rashemi began to write on a tattered piece of parchment. Something to make note of his travels, adventures and thoughts. It gave the warrior time to think and meditate in peace.

Journeys in Sundren
On these pages, I will record my journey in the land they call Sundren. Populated by every type of men and women; brave warriors; cunning wizards; and cowardly scum alike. Fishing villages, growing towns, abandonned settlements and an overpuplated city have been built on the land, surrounded by mountains and forests. This is where my feet have taken me, a long way since I began my dajemma. Danyaska would wish to stay if she was still with me. The land is plagued and in need of help. And in her honour I will remain to help whom I can.


Rashemen has never felt so distant, yet so close. The town of Sestra reminds me of Taporan. Except there is no lodges. But, like home, they have thayan neighbours. How they tolerate the Red Wizards' presence is beyond me. The laws of the land allow the thayans and their slaves to thrive and grow – they even allow orcs to do so. Paperwork and other nonsense. They will undo themselves, if nothing is done the Thayans will dominate, exploit and destroy the land, someway or another. The Red Wizards are blinded by ambition, power and wealth. However they are not the greatest threat, not yet anyway.


The Black Hand – foul necromancers, cowardly assassins and mindless warriors terrorize the land. They spread the blight of undeath and must be dealt with, but their forces are strong. And they do not weaken. Bloodsuckers steal the soul of warriors and turn them on their former allies. They have taken one of the few I would've considered friend, and I will make them pay.

[MadSeer]

Vampires. Abominations of the foulest sort. Undeads, monsters. Whatever life used to be in them long gone, they say. They are cursed by unlife, turned against their will. The strange thing is their new self all seem to enjoy it. Must be the lust for power that takes them over. But one was not happy with it. I do not know what his motives were - having known him in life, I can't imagine they were the best. But whatever they were, he was after a cure to his curse. Something to turn him into a living being once more.

I spared his life in the old house. They all say a cure is impossible, but no one seems to try. Except him. Perhaps his work would have lead to something or another. Turning the innocent, that have been unrighteously transformed, back to normal. I might've been wrong, maybe nothing good would've come out of it. But it was a risk to take. No one, but Cirion, understood this.

The legionaire, Bram, the mage, didn't care for this. He claims to work to protect the folk of Sundren. He claims he wants to make a difference. He does not show it. Fully knowing sparing this one undead might have brought a cure, he did not care. The only vampire not worth killing right away is the only one that dies. I was not surprised. The Legion, the government, they do not care for the people.

They claim it is a thankless job, but you do not thank the power hungry and the greedy. I was aware of the Red Wizards' presence, of their Enclave, but they also brought their slaves. Slavery is tolerated, slavery is accepted. The Red Wizards bring wealth to Sundren, why would the government care for slaves if it brings them stags ? They will not do anything to protect the ones that have been forced into labour, into serving these evil masters. Until now, I had stayed my hand when meeting a Thayan. But I will no longer. I shall deliver to the Enclave the head of every Red Wizard that crosses my path.

[MadSeer]

I travelled to the Abyss. One of it's many layers, from what I could understand from my companions.
There is not many situations that would strike fear into my heart. But journeying through this unnatural and desolate wasteland is one of them. Empty of trees and plants, empty of natural life. The air is thick and oppressing, the shadows watch you, the demons and twisted creatures prey on you. One way lies the massive, foul smelling demon. The other way, a desirable, exotic woman of flawless skin. But there is no mistake to be made, one is as evil and cruel as the other.

My death would not have been unexpected. But, fighting alongside Tigen, Amilynn, Xaayne, the Paladin, the Legionaire and the Hand of Mundus, it is the denizens of the Abyss that were sent to a bloody death.

Our search for an object of great magical power, an anti-phylactery, lead us to this other plane of existence. As usual, most of the details remained held as quiet secrets between a select few. I am not certain what it would mean if we got our hands on this item, nor am I certain how it would help the Black Hand further their dark plans. It might be part of the key to open the door to the Dead God's return, or simply hold some different power. Whatever the case, our search was mostly pointless. We came back empty handed, and even though Clive and Golias fell to our blades, I doubt we will not be seeing them again.

[MadSeer]

The air was moist and thick, heavy and oppressing. Patches of green moss decorated the stones at the base of the walls. Hissing murmurs could be heard echoing through the hallways, originating from some distant, dark corner of the structure, but they were buried under the heavy footsteps of the man walking through the entrance. Even if he tried to go unnoticed, the stomping of his boots and the plates of his armour knocking into each other announced his presence long before he would be seen. He walked down the stairs,keeping a tight grip on his great axe, and carefully threaded through the first corridor.

One, two, five steps - nothing. Shadowy silhouette danced, up in the distance. Or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Either way he was not alone in this temple, nor was he welcomed. A tile below his foot shifted, he quickly stepped back, but too late. A click in the distance warned him that he activated a mechanism, but he did not see the series of darts flying out of the wall to pierce his armour. But the damage did not go further, the projectiles broke against his skin which was as resilient as the stone the walls were made of. That trap was the least of his troubles.

The sound of splintering wood broke the silence of the temple as a volley of arrows shattered against him. Two massive, lizard-like creatures appeared out of the corners. Their hands were glowing with blue flames and their sharp claws tried to slash their way through his skin. He dodged and rushed forward, hammering his shoulder into the first enemy and sending it off it's feet. Spinning around, his axe cleaved through half of the flanking creature's body, killing it in a heartbeat. He had no time to liberate the weapon from it's hold and so he unsheathed the two-handed sword in his back, leaping onto the downed monster to finish it off. He did not see the archer through the darkness, but he knew where the arrows were coming from. He charged ahead and skewered the sharpshooter on his blade. Then he felt something pierce through the joint of his armour and go deep into his skin.

The blow might have been a fatal one, but his runemagic was more potent than a simple Stoneskin. He was living stone, a moving statue. However the blade that had pierced his body was made of adamantine, and it would cut through the hardest material. Not intent on giving his next assailant the chance to cut something off, he spun on his feet, swinging his sword in a wide arc and lopped off the head of the last creature. The dull thud of the head hitting the ground marked the end of the battle. But it would not be his last one. He sheathed his sword and retrieved his deadly axe, then moved on forward into the dark temple.

The walls were decorated with intricate carvings, the columns had giant snake statues twisted around them. The warrior examined them curiously. These creatures most likely worshipped snake-like gods, but he was not here to study their religion and he advanced through the dark hallways. Approaching a door way, he stopped to consider his next move – he could hear the heavy breathes of several lizardfolk around the corner. There was many of them, but none he could not handle. He dashed out in the open, intent on running through the large group of warriors he just exposed himself to, but his run was halted by another distinct click.
The floor below him glowed and he found himself bathing in a burst of purple light. It seemed harmless at first, but he realized his mistake as he felt the sharp pain of an arrow planting itself in his arm, then another and a third one. His supernatural strength and resilience was gone, and he was being showered with arrows. This was a battle he couldn't win and, remembering his steps, ran for the exit. He was close to the light when he felt his leg failing under him, sending him to his knees. An arrow ran through his thigh and he felt several more in the instant that followed. The last thing he felt was the cold and wet floor before blacking out.