Legend of Ransera

The warm winds blew across the fields of the Dagaroth Grasslands. In the distance, she could see the wings of a red dragon soaring through the skies. Beneath the shade of her rotunda, she cast the bones. They fell from her hand as they always did, weighted with the burden of destiny. Today was different. Today, the pull of Vicis whispers was stronger in her ears. She could feel her beloved aunt lingering closer that day, watching as she always did. Waiting as she always did. Just as she could feel the touch of her father upon her shoulder. His gentle clarity lending greater insight and truth to the bones as they fell upon the earth. She watched them. She watched them as she had for millennia. They rolled and each one came to stop with their respective runes facing the sky. The winds shifted and for the first time in centuries, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Justice.”

Scooping up the bones, she deposited them into her pouch. Reaching out, she extended a hand to her kachai cat, the little animal purred before stretching and climbing onto her shoulder. She gave the little beast a kiss upon the head. Around her was what once might have been a glorious temple. In an age long ago, it had belonged to a great spirit that the people of the region worshipped as a nature god. She had been close friends with this spirit. Its passing in the aftermath of the Sundering had been a painful loss. But now it was her home. A cozy place that was filled with books, scrolls, and tablets littered with her endless writing. Her gift to her people, it was how she chronicled the course of their history and it helped her to foretell their fortunes.

“Come, Ugue.” The little beast yawned and draped across her shoulders with a chuff. Grabbing her staff, she began walking. As she walked, she stepped through the world. Her footsteps took her across the veil. She moved beyond the mortal realm and beside her walked the forms of her aunt and her father. There was no fear for her as she moved into the Land of Nod, across the lands of Ecith and into the cold northern reaches.

She could hear their grief. She knew it. She had seen it coming, long before the pain had been made a reality. It did not change the fact that it still hurt. She could only hope that they would heal from it in the days to come.

She was announced by the warm winds of the southernmost savannah. The distant joyful roar of resplendent dragons soaring in azure blue skies. Her only companions were the grassland breeze and the kachai cat on her shoulder. She came to them, weaving the fortunes of her passage and willing the web and weft of fate to make her steps go unnoticed. This moment was one that could be filled with joy or it could be filled with sorrow. She had to be careful in the spinning of this fortune, of this future. For she had foreseen what could happen if this destiny did not see its proper course. She was committed to defeating that future, even if her aunt, uncle and father questioned whether it could be done.
Her garb was that of animal hides. A fur shawl to keep her warm on cold nights when her Warrior and her Lover were not there to keep her company, rest on one shoulder. Bone necklaces on leather string wrapped loosely around her neck. Her ears were decorated with ivory jewelry whereas her hands and wrists were adorned with bone rings and bracelets. Each piece was covered in writings that whispered stories grand and simple. Each one had been a gift given to her, a story for her to keep and to tell forever. Her hair was long, a mix of braids and loose strands that hung gracefully down past her waist. The wisdom of steel grey in her hair coupled with dark black graced her hair and added to the stern matronly set of her features.

An Orkhan woman came to stand before the three, Rickter, Telion and Aoren. From her shoulder, the kachai cat hopped down. As soon as it landed on the stone floor of the Warrens, it stretched lazily before padding up to the weeping Kathar. Wide eyes peered at the dark winged warrior before it brushed its body up against Aoren who stared at her and it in abject misery.

“Shed your tears, Young Ones of Old but let them be of joy.”

“Joy?” His voice was like thunder in the heart of a blizzard storm. Cold and filled with a pain that howled like the winds. She turned her eyes to behold Aoren sadly. She had known this grief would come. She would not deny them of it. But she would ease its passing.

“How--what are you? Some phantom come to haunt me for my failure? Some witch to steal what’s left?” Aoren was on his feet and standing directly in front of Rickter and Telion. His wings were flared. He was reaching across the only Bond he had left and clutching Rickter to him tightly. The little kachai cat murped curiously before scampering after one of the air lodestones that had been left behind in the wake of this terrible but necessary disaster. It pounced upon the crystal, grasping it between its paws and growling as it began to gnaw on the crystal. She smiled fondly at the little beast before turning her attention back to the three.

“Peace, warriors.” She invoked her father’s domain. He filled her with it. She gave it to them. “He lives. But he needs you. Come, I will take you to him. As I must. As I always have. As I always will.”

She had made a promise, long, long ago. She would honor it. Not because she had to but because she wanted to. She remembered the grief in her brother-god’s face at the loss of him. It was a long road to restoring his smile. But restore it she would. She stepped back, sweeping her arm to the side. The bone charms upon her gnarled wooden staff knocked together as though caught in a breeze and behind her, there stood a path.

“Come. He is waiting for you.”

She made a soft clicking noise with her tongue. The little kachai cat perked up, scampering over to her. Crouching down she extended a hand, scooping up the little beast. With the air lodestone in its mouth, it climbed up to sprawl across her shoulders once more. She gently scratched between its ears eliciting a content murp from the little one. As the three approached, she observed them. As her eyes settled upon Rickter and Telion, her lips twitched into a smile before she met the fiery gaze of the one called Aoren. He did not flinch away from her stare. He did not back away nor appear mystified by her presence. She did not expect him to be. She gave a slight nod of her head before motioning for them to continue forward.

Through the veil she brought them. She remained close as they stepped across the mortal realm and guided them through the realm of dreams and gods. It was a short walk, a brief glimpse, but it was enough that if she were not watchful, anything could go awry. And she was watchful.

They came across the other side and were deposited into a clearing deep within the Wildking’s Forge. The trees were green, their leaves still in full verdant bloom. Sunlight streamed down from between the branches in columns that touched upon a sleepy hollow. Flowers covered the opening, a decoration of Eikaen’s Tears. A white rose-like flower with flecks of silver in the petals and stem. Beyond its sacred entrance there was a quiet enclosure within which stood a shrine to the once-fallen demigod. Fallen no longer. But he still needed to find his way back to the people who needed him. She turned to the three.

“I do not preside over the ways of Healing. But perhaps the threads of your fortune can be nudged just a bit to offer some comfort.” Raising a hand, she brushed her fingers over the threads of fate tied to each of the three before her. She studied them for no longer than a breath, finding the moment in time where destiny had been woven a certain way. For Rickter, the broken bones of his arm set themselves and were mended. For Aoren and Telion, some of the worst of their fatigue abated. Some cuts and bruises still lingered but some of their vitality was returned to all of them. She smiled softly.

“Apologies for not being able to do more. As I said, I am not the Mistress of Healing.” The little kachai cat on her shoulder nibbled on the air lodestone, gnawing on it. A stream of wind brushed across its body, making the Orkhan woman’s hair billow out. The little beast pawed at the crystal before hiccuping as it swallowed a chunk of the crystal. It continued to chew on the magical rock contentedly drawing her to nuzzle the creature fondly.

“Ugue, say thank you.” The cat chirped at Aoren before going back to munching on the rock. She shook her head with a chuckle. Inclining her head toward the entryway, she smiled at them.

“He is waiting. Help him find his way back and remember…” The Orkhan woman’s eyes grew distant. Her voice hitched as emotion crowded her. “...he needs you. More than you may ever know.”

Glass shattered and the world went silent. Darkness surrounded the wolf as he plunged into the mouth of an yawning abyss. The winds rushed forward whipping through Rickter’s hair as it rushed toward him. The bitter cold that had so suffused the bond between himself and Talon crawled across his body. It dug into his muscles and threaded itself into the very weave of his soul. As he plunged further and further into the dark the rushing came suddenly to a stop. Rickter landed on his feet, body dropping into a crouch as a scene played out before him.

A broad shouldered man was playfully running away from two boys. The man had hair that was a dark black streaked with white despite his youthful appearance. His skin was a sun bronzed and glowed with health. He appeared human from a mere look. His eyes were a bright grey that was reminiscent of a winter landscape. He wore the worn leathers of a man well versed in travelling the world. He was tackled to the ground by the two boys as a woman sat perched upon a rock, sketchbook in hand. Though she was not watching the scene, a smile played upon her lips as her eyes were focused on the ruined remains of a statue in front of her.

It was easy to tell that the four of them were a family. There was happiness. There was joy.

The darkness returned, opening up and swallowing Rickter once more. He fell, the shadows rushing past him as he spiraled through the dark like a kite in the winds of a hurricane. Until once more he was on his feet and before him was a different scene. The family once again was before them. The boys were older, each of them gazing with wide eyes at a creature of such wondrous magnificence. The mother and father each stood behind the children, hands resting lightly upon their shoulders. In front of them was a glittering dragon with resplendent silver scales. It stared down upon the family with a humble majesty. Between its legs were curled up three wyrmlings that were beginning to stir. One of the infant dragons yawned widely, eyes opening to stare at the family curiously. It wobbled to its feet, hobbling forward. The mighty dragon, presumably its mothers, gently nudged the little one forward.

With eyes filled with wonder, the mother and father brought their sons closer. One of the other wyrmlings flapped lightly into the air before zooming forward to tackle the older boy with a hiccup of excitement. The elder boy exclaimed in excitement before rolling around with the young dragon. The younger boy, however, seemed more shy. He clung to his mother. With a kind and patient smile, the father knelt before the small wyrmling even as the mighty mother dragon nuzzled his hair. Gently, ever so gently, the father pet the curious little wyrmling before reaching out for his son. The boy hesitated before timidly stepping forward. Taking his son into his arm, the father brought the two together. As the boy brushed his fingers over silvery scales, his eyes widened with awe. He eagerly picked up the wyrmling giving the infant dragonling an exuberant hug. The wyrmling squeaked before purring contentedly as the parents of all looked onward with fondness.

The ground dissolved and the scene faded.

Once more the darkness wrapped around Rickter. But it was no longer silent. It was filled with voices. A man’s deep voice crying out in fear for his family, commanding them to stand back. A woman screaming in pain and fear. The cry of a boy frightened and in pain.

Rickter landed.

The air was filled with ash. It drifted lazily like snow falling lightly. A young boy sat sobbing over the bloodied body of his mother. Tears streamed from his face as he clung to her.

Gone was the father.

Gone was the brother.

“Mama, please come back.” He wept as he gently shook her. “Come back, please.”

There came no reply. She remained still. One hand lightly grasping the hand of her son. He wept until the sound of wings filled the air. The boy hiccuped in fear, eyes going wide but he remained by his mother. The haze and ash in the air was stirred to reveal a silver dragon. It walked forward solemnly, neck extending and muzzle coming to nudge the boy gently. He threw his arms around the dragon and sobbed.

Ash continued to fall from the skies.

The world shifted and as Rickter plunged into the dark it was not long before he landed on his feet once more. But this place was different. This place...felt different. It was the chapel only it was no longer a ruin. The columns stood as though they were only recently complete. The windows were not broken or faded with age. There were few walls, the chapel having been built to be open to nature and inviting of its serenity. But Rickter was not alone.

He was human, at least he appeared to be. His hair was a dark black. His body was strong and lean, the mark of both a warrior and an explorer. The light sought him out, brushing over his skin giving it a healthy golden bronzed cast. The irises of his eyes were a mercurial silver. In his face there was a strong resemblance to both the warrior father and the explorer mother from the visions previously. He radiated a calm and noble strength but within it was woven a quiet sadness. He smiled at Rickter.

“Hello, old friend.”

Silver eyes beheld Rickter with naught but tenderness and kindness. The dark haired man looked at though he wanted to say many things to Rickter. Exactly what those things were however, there was no telling.

“We will always recognize each other, in the end.” Those eyes turned from Rickter to the form of the burly armored man that had manifested beside him. This one, the one referred to as Arcas, stepped up and drew into a firm hug. More emotion than perhaps words could convey passed from Arcas to the form of the man he held tightly. When he managed to speak, there was a hitch to his voice.

“It is good to see you, Tiberius.” He squeezed the man’s armored shoulder then stepped up to Rickter. Even with that simple movement, there was a regality to the man’s motions. Though he wore no crown, the very light in the area itself seemed to bestow one upon him. The world around him paused as if to hold its breath and await his judgement, be it filled with wrath or kindness. From the broadness of his shoulders and the lean strength of his frame, it seemed that this man was capable of rendering either. Those silver eyes fell upon Rickter once more but they saw more than just the Rathari in front of them. They peered through him, into him, gazing upon Rickter’s soul in its fullness with a light that shone into every dark corner, exposing every hope, hurt, and hardship.

“Rickter.” He spoke the Rathari’s name and somehow it was a familiar one on his lips. “You do not know me. But I know you.”

Those silver eyes softened and beheld Rickter with a love and tenderness that could be born only from the most intimate of familiarities.

“Or should I say, you do not know this version of me.” A sad smile touched his lips and it was...familiar. As if someone Rickter knew smiled in a very similar way. The way this man spoke, the way he walked and carried himself it all held a hint of familiarity. He touched a hand to his chest and within it blossomed a silver-white light. This light, this gentle warmth, was utterly familiar to Rickter as it caused a corresponding blue light to shine within the chests of both Tiberius and Rickter as well. As he touched over his heart, the man spoke softly.

“I am Arcas. Son Eikaen. Draegir of Justice, Hope and Light.” This next he spoke firmly but with a hint of sadness. “And I am also Talon. I am him. He is me. We are one. He just does not remember it fully yet.”

The silver-white light faded and Arcas extended his hands to Rickter, opening them so that he could take the wolf’s hands into his own.

“But that is where you come in, my wolf. We do not have much time but...will you listen to me? To what I have to say?"

Arcas smiled as he took Rickter's hands into his own. He rubbed his thumbs over those callused fingers. He stared down at their hands with a look of near bewilderment on his face. Thoughts flickered across his features, the echo of some Rickter could nearly feel. Worry. Disbelief. But most of all, hope. A swelling of hope that seemed timid at first but was laced with a thread of desperation. All of those things passed between the two of them without a word being said. The emotions faded as Arcas stepped closer in order to rest his forehead against Rickter's. The demigod was shorter than the wolf but the gesture felt familiar all the same. He whispered softly.

"Fate was kind to us in the end, my old friend." With that, he stepped back. There was a slight misting to his eyes as he stared up at Rickter.

"There will be questions. Trust that the answers will come in time. Some things must wait." Arcas turned the wolf's hand over, pushing his sleeve back until the symbol upon his forearm was exposed. He touched it and the mark became illuminated in the light that followed the demigod. It blossomed across the lines of the Emblem breathing life into the mark. It shone with an argent luminance before settling. No longer was it just raised scaring. It was vibrant, shining and filled with divine presence. This close to the deity from whom it stemmed, the Emblem practically hummed with life.

"This mark is the Eminence of my domain. That is its name. Those who bear it are those whom you can trust. You will know them and they will know you. You will feel it." He touched his heart again. "Talon will be confused. He will doubt himself and the journey ahead. Just as I did. Just as you will."

Arcas searched Rickter's face.

"Do not lose yourself to that doubt. Believe that you have the strength to endure the coming hardships and you will." Arcas released Rickter's hands. He drew in a deep breath, casting a glance to Tiberius. There was much said in that shared look. It was filled with old promises being remade.

"But now it is time to speak not of reunions but of Destiny. Specifically, yours." The demigod gestured in front of him. The light bent and shifted to form the shape of two objects. Two swords came into being. One shone with a celestial brilliance, emitting light and radiance. The other was swathed in shadows that clung to the blade like a cloud of darkness, defiant of the light around it.

"Oathkeeper. A promise of light and hope. With it, no evil can stand against you. Seek it not for vengeance but for justice. The light of this sword can inspire a thousand souls or it can burn those same in an inferno of righteous fury. Be warned, Rickter, the sword will accept only one who it deems worthy. It is up to you to determine if you are ready for it." Arcas moved his hand over the sword of light. The blade was etched with runes that glowed with silver fire.

"Oblivion. The Void made manifest. A promise of destruction and desolation. With it, your rage can decimate an army. Seek it only when you have no doubts about the mastery of your power. For if you falter, it will consume you." He moved his hand over the blade of darkness. His gaze lingered on the sword for a moment and there was pain in his eyes. Rickter's gaze would be drawn to the barest hint of a scar over the demigod's chest, directly over his heart.

"Two halves of the same whole. See them. Know them. Destiny was set in motion today and now the clock is ticking. You must find these swords, Rickter. Find them in order to fulfill your sacred charge. A promise you made long ago. A promise that, if left unfulfilled, will come to haunt you the longer it is left unfinished." The silver eyes of the demigod were unblinking as he spoke. He dismissed the swords, stepping forward to rest his hands upon the wolf's shoulders. He squeezed them.

"Move with haste, my wolf. The blades have new masters but those poor souls were never meant to wield them. You must reclaim them. If you do not…" Arcas voice grew soft. "...death will come for all of us yet again. And it will start with those closest to you."

Arcas crossed his wrists behind his back, watching Rickter for his reaction.