Armageddon
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Original Submissions by Barzalene of type 'Stories'

  • Kazyn Pays His Debt
    Added on Sep 7, 2006

    Fictional account of the liberation of Tuluk centered around in-game events and pcs.

    In the final days of the Rebellion there was a change in mood - a pervasive feeling as if the men and woman who rose to lead gave off more heat, more energy. Chakal was bigger than his shadow in ways Einat couldn't describe. Einat worshipped Chakal. She adored him in the way that the bland and ordinary love those who are the special ones, in the quiet unseen way that the dull and unbeautiful love the polished gems who outshine them. In those final years of the occupation, she rode beside him, slept beside him, ate beside him and fought beside him, all the while waiting for him to notice her for more than just a strong bow arm. She waited for him to see the beauty in her no one else saw, because he was Chakal, and he was capable of everything. She yearned to be not one more soldier serving under him, but the lover wrapped around him, fingers entwined in his brown hair, making his every exhaled breath her own.

     

     Einat's hate for Kazyn was not as spectacular as the way she loved, but it was keen and honed. In the year after his betrayal she would claim she had always suspected him. She hated his flat southern voice, the way he looked and even smelled Naki. The truth is, she did not suspect him, and her enmity was earned not by where he came from but where he was going. How could it be Kazyn to whom Chakal revealed his fears and hopes and plans? How did Kazyn earn the smiles and small off-hand moments of humor that Einat coveted? Kazyn was not even Chakal's lover, worse, he was Chakal's friend.  

     

    Kazyn had come from the Black City where he'd killed one of their robed witches, an event he'd offered up as proof of his dedication to the Ivory when he'd arrived. One day Kazyn left camp and all that remained of him were the rumors. Einat heard stories- the Faithful Lady came to Chakal. He was warned. The Faithful knew what Kazyn was. They knew that Kazyn had told the red witch Dora of every plan he knew, every name, every description. The Templar said he wore the jade cross on his black officer's cloak. Chakal listened to the Faithful Lady, but he loved Kazyn and he could not really believe. Every day he he looked off to the south as if waiting for Kazyn to return with information, or an excuse or any justification.

     

     Einat's dreams were filled with Chakal, but her days were not. Her days she spent hunting for food, and when she'd meet other hunters  talking with them about the stories she'd heard, of the Tuluk that had been taken from them, and the Tuluk that would be again. She made friends, and acquaintances, sharing her food, her spice, her wine, and she shared stories, always the stories. Until the day for battle came.

     

      

     The rebels assembled in the forest, a guide led the way to Torgan's camp.  Faithful Ladies and Lords came from their excile. Mutants, an army of mutants were there. The Rebels came, one cell after another. Even a contingent from Red Storm. Everyone who hated the Nakis and would make a stand were there. What most struck Einat was how the camp smelled: the sun on the sands - hot has it's own smell, dust filled the air, mounts kicked up clouds of it, and the mounts themselves, six legged, four legged and two legged catching the mood from their riders and reeking of excitement and fear. The sweat of leather clad bodies, all of them smoking their warspices, combined like the odor of a kuraci orgy. Once she fastened on her veil, the melange was filtered through the odor of her own breath..

     

    Another curiosity that occurred for her was how in the noise of all those fighters on all those mounts and the commands passed back and forth faded, she only heard the sounds of her own leathers creaking and her own heart beating. The sounds must have been close to deafening, but she barely registered the noises at all.

     

    Chakal, on his kank came alongside her and rode there for a few moments, dropping back from his place beside the assembled Faithful in their red and white robes. Sweat plastered his hair to his brown skin. She glanced so many times at his profile, as he rode beside her, and once for a heart stopping moment their eyes met. The thrill of his absent nod, made her dizzy. His mouth was turned down and sad. He glanced back occasionally. Was he even on that day thinking of Kazyn?

     

     She never had the chance to ask Chakal if he saw Kazyn's hand, in some way, behind the mass of soldiers who met them. It seemed to Einat as if every Naki in the black city must have been sent up for the day. Would they have been as prepared if not for Kazyn? The rebels had known before leaving camp, from the Kuracis, that the Naki's would not be surprised, but she hadn't expected the sheer numbers. Einat wanted to run, but glanced at Chakal, and rode on, holding her bow, waiting for the order.



    She was unprepared for the chaos of battle. The rebels were unprepared for route. Outnumbered, greatly and terribly outnumbered they fought on. Dying one by one. It was loud, so loud and The High Precentor Kul's arrival was not heralded by the sound of approaching riders and marchers, or if it was that herald was lost in the din of dying. For Einat, there was no telling if the Nakis were as surprised as she when Kul's army turned the battle, and took control of it. Einat concentrated only on avoiding the swords, trying to strike blows, and ensuring that it was only the enemies she lashed out at with her spear.

     

    If not for Chakal she might have turned an run. She probably wouldn't have, but people like Einat don't credit their bravery, only their fears. She felt what courage she had came from being near him. Loosing volley after volley of arrows, until the battle came too close and she strapped her bow to her back, and drew her spear. Standing beside him she saw the point of the obsidian sword protruding from his back. He fell to his knees, the blade had already been wrested from his body, and his eyes already had begun to glaze.


    Einat dropper her spear and knelt to hold his body, still warm enough that she could pretend that it was a lovers embrace. His blood spilled across the sand turning into an awful soup. She sat there, not flinching, holding the man who would never be her lover and rocking him like a baby...until a red and white-veiled figure pulled her away.

    In a lull in the fighting she fell in with a regiment of archers. That is how she came to be one of the few humans marching toward Luirs as the Southern brutes were ousted from The Ivory, and the victory Chakal had dreamed of and died for was born. She marched, one foot in front of the next, seeing only the red wet sand, almost black with blood under Chakal's body, rather than the dry red sands beneath her feet, until the army stopped outside the Outpost's gates. All day she spent in the burning sun shooting arrows over the walls until her fingers bled. She had nothing to do directly with Kuraci decision to side with the Tuluk forces, but indirectly? She'd spend her share of time in the outpost, smiling, smoking and always telling her stories. When the gates finally opened she was relieved, but not surprised.

    Hate is a lot like love. In a crowded room you can hear your love's voice first. Though the chaos and the mayhem, the crowds she knew Kazyn. Oh, he looked so prosperous, fancy black cloak and that same scarred proud face. Not even the onrush of soldiers boiling from between the opened gates toward their lines could draw her attention from him. She knew him by his posture, and the way he held his head. She drew her bowstring back, and watched the arrow fly. Even the axe planted between her shoulder-blades from an unseen soldier behind her couldn't draw her eyes from Kazyn, and she saw him stumble back as the arrow hit his shoulder, and the last thing she saw was a blade coming down at him from off to his right.

    In the final days of the Rebellion there was a change in mood - a pervasive feeling as if the men and woman who rose to lead gave off more heat, more energy. Chakal was bigger than his shadow in ways Einat couldn't describe. Einat worshipped Chakal. She adored him in the way that the bland...


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