Tag Archives: Ca’armine

What the What?

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After tending to the horses on the groups’ first return to the to top of the stairwell, Rask approaches the rest of the group:

“This,” he gestures all around them, “what… I’m not even sure where to start…”

“Hadonis… those giants… this… that five-eyed thing…” he gestures downward, and looks to Alexis, Ethelred and Gustav.

“You’ve explored dwarven ruins before, right? How are they different or the same? Were they this infested with magic? What do you make of all this? Anything Ca’armine and I should know?”

Warrior in a Garden

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Rask tends to the horses and helps set up camp in the calm grove, free from the unnaturally cold mist. The cherry tree in bloom, soft grass and moss underneath it is inviting. Rask finishes unsaddling and brushing down the horses and begins to set up his own camp. It is safe here, calm, the owl, the white wolf, the hawk, all at ease.

Rask takes off his pack and sword belt and a sits on the grass beneath the cherry tree, amid the blossoms on the ground. He focuses on his breath at first, pausing between exhale and inhale. He turns his mind to Raiden, the protector. There is a connection between Raiden and the land. He can feel it. His own tattoos, Runes of Raiden, described to him by Mage Eye as the Raw Power of Aegir. It is strong in Gustav, and part of Ca’armine’s connection too.

The feeling of gentle southern breeze brushes over Rask, the thought of an early fall day, warm and sunny, ‘Raiden’s Summer!’ Rask insisting to Brude and Yon, who called it ‘Zephrus’ Goodbye.’ Thater, so clam and peaceful in the afternoon light.

Children singing songs about Raiden… farm animals, gentle and kind… farm and village dogs, sweet and protective…

The clarity and mercy of every strike in his recent battle, the Gift of Raiden’s Mercy flowing through him…

Rask’s eyes are open, focused gently at nothing, a middle distance, his mind at peace, his vision taking in the garden in general and in detail. A cherry blossom floats to the ground, wafting through his field of vision. The thought of a lesson, from his mother perhaps, perhaps a chaplain… the sleeping goddess… cherry trees, the white hawk… kindly defense, the sword unstained… Tai-Lynne…

Alexis approaches the white wolf, it growls at him, and moves away as Alexis slowly continues his approach. Alexis backs off.

Rasks stands slowly and deliberately. He unpacks his bedroll and removes his armor, taking great care in each movement. When his camp his set, he returns to meditating under the cherry tree, his back and chest bare, the top two thirds of the Iron Tree runic tattoo visible.

Rask’s eyes are open, focused gentle at nothing, a middle distance, his mind at peace, his vision taking in the garden in general and in detail. A cherry blossom floats to the ground, wafting through his field of vision.

Gustav’s Crow and the owl greet each other and begin to play some sort of game of tag or follow the leader.

Rask breathing settles into an easy rhythm, his mind wanders through peaceful memories, visualizing defensive and non-lethal combat forms, children playing a fighting, a peaceful wind wafting through white tree blossoms, a hawk soaring in white clouds, cherry trees in full bloom with petals perfect beyond belief, gentle bees buzzing in the boughs, tree branches bent under the load of pale flowers, the breeze as ceaseless as the peaks of the mountains are lofty, Brude and Myrsky young and laughing in the sunshine, families working the land on warm spring days, preparing the soil, sowing the seeds, tending to calves and foals, gathering wax and honey from the hives, playing with puppies… peace like Rask has not known in a very long time.

A harsh black rage interrupts Rask’s calm with a silent howl. Rask is jarred to a specific awareness. Alexis and Ethelred are talking. Something about cooking and gardening. The rage is quiet.

Rask sighs, and returns to measured, controlled breathing, pausing between each inhale and each exhale. His mind quickly returns to its peace, families harvesting in the warm fall, breezes wafting gently, non-lethal combat forms, playing with dogs, milking gentle mama goats…

Again! Another harsh black rage and a silent howl. Ethelred is looking at some of the plants in the grove, they are withered and dead. Alexis removes a necklace and tries to clean up the withered plants.

Another wave of rage. As Alexis attempts to clean, black waves of wrath flow over Rask. The white wolf whines.

Alexis stops and begins to make camp at the edge of the garden. The wolf whines. Rask asks Gus if he can calm the wolf, and the group sets watches for the night.

Before laying down to sleep, Rask sits once more beneath the cherry tree and returns again to measured, controlled breathing. His mind returns to its peace, families sharing a meal in a warm house in the winter, a cold morning, warm breath wafting gently away from young boys excited to explore the freshly fallen snow, a white panther fearlessly leaping from ice cover rock to ice covered rock with joyful focus, defensive combat forms, playing with dogs, tending to the farm animals in their stalls, making candles in a warm work-room… Kark Bergthison’s songs of Raiden, the protector of humanity, sung at the hearth in the Worn Stone Tavern…

Rask’s breathing settles into a natural rhythm. His mind wanders to children playing at fighting… Yon and Sten… to defensive combat forms… to non-lethal combat forms… Raiden… the Protector.

“Praise Raiden” Rask intones and moves to take his rest in the Garden of TyLin, his first truly peaceful rest in far, far too long.

Let’s Go Back to Church

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Morning in camp. Ca’armine finishes his watch, and wakes Alexis, who as usual had taken the first watch. “Camp is secure, nothing to report overnight. If you’re awake, I’m going to retire to pray.” Alexis rubs his eyes, and nods, pushing up on one elbow. Once Alexis is up, he’s up– and the two have made this exchange many times over the months they have been together. Ca’armine moves off from the group, and finds a tree to sit beneath.

“Raiden, brother, protector, hear my prayer!” He starts, as he always does, with his silver shield in his two hands. He thanks Raiden for protection and guidance, and asks that Raiden continue to bring these gifts to him and to his team.

He becomes distracted, though, as he calls the faces of his comrades into his vision. Alexis asked to be taught the ways of Raiden yesterday! Ca’armine thanks Raiden for the opportunity and asks for the gift of wisdom in this matter. Forming a congregation, was not the path he foresaw for himself, when he got the call to go south and find the Crimson Calling. But in the midst of battle, something was changing with the spirit of his team. Rask is depending on Ca’armine, for spiritual guidance and more. Gustav is offering his trust, and asking Ca’armine to consider the burden on his soul, of accepting magic from gods other than Raiden. Ethelred is not talking much about religion, it’s true, but he did join in the cause of helping Rask by crafting a holy symbol of Raiden for Rask to hold. And now Alexis the Av worshipper, the one who calls on Av’s power for spell work, is showing interest in Raiden worship and asking Ca’armine to be the guide. Ca’armine feels giddy as he thinks about the team coalescing, not only in purpose, but also, in inspiration. Raiden be praised!

He feels things shifting in this group. Only a week ago, he was still nursing a plan to leave the group and head north and east, to the region of Fjellsby where he felt sure, he would find his opportunity to thwart the Dark Hand’s evil plans. He did not feel he could push Alexis any harder than he already was, to take that path, and Alexis was still clearly ruminating on unfinished business in Southron. He wondered if, in that moment, Rask would join him. But more he wondered if, without the rest of the team, he could survive long at all, in his quest to find Bandesingh.

But Alexis took the path to the North East without any further discussion, and the team had all followed along. In that moment, Ca’armine realizes, he finally felt he had found his place on the team.

“Raiden, protect us! Protect humanity from harm. Protect us from the evil workings of our foe!” In his mind’s eye he sees, but vaguely, a powerful and evil magical working, and imagines Bandesingh looking on in satisfaction. He envisions himself interposing his body, sacrificing his life to stop the evil from gaining sway in this plane. Then he tries to imagine having his whole team with him, resisting that magic. Stronger, yes. So much stronger.

Strong enough?

“Raiden hear my prayer! Help me to guide my team in spirit, so that we can, together, find the foe and cancel his evil plans. Help me to bring them together as comrades, as soldiers in your army, to defeat the foul foe. Help me raise up their souls in your light, so that we can do your good work and save humanity!”

In his mind’s eye, he sees Alexis, pointing out across a plain, and sees Rask, blade held high, charge past in the direction he’s led. He sees Gustav moving out in a flanking maneuver. Red, circling around the other way. He himself, following behind Rask, holy shield in one hand, sword in the other. The team, charging into battle, to the end, together.

“Raiden please let it be so!”

What About Raiden?

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It’s the morning after the group camped at “Ty-Lynn’s Garden”. Morning settles soft over the camp, the mist clinging low to the bedrolls and the blackened stones of the fire. A crow mutters somewhere in the trees. Alexis stands near what’s left of the coals, warming his hands more out of habit than need.

“Since Warder Yule,” he says, eyes on the faint embers, “and especially after what happened last night, I’ve been thinking about where my magic comes from.” He straightens a little, turning his hat absently in his hands as he speaks. “Avv’s realm has its uses—finding what’s hidden, drawing the unseen to light. But I’m not her servant. Never was. And since we left Ghanil, treasure-hunting hasn’t been high on the list.”

He looks up then, toward Ca’armine, but his voice carries to all of them. “The name of Avv… tends to make people uneasy. You’ve felt it. Yule certainly did.” He gives a small, crooked smile—more acknowledgment than humor.

“I trained with the Collegium,” he goes on. “They teach you to touch where you choose, not a servant any one realm. And I’d like to be in greater harmony with you; my Raidenites.”

Turning to face them fully, the mist curls around his boots, “Are you willing to help me make the shift?”

Poor Morwraith

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Mist clings low over the road, swallowing sound. The horses’ hooves make dull thuds in the packed dirt, and every breath comes with a hint of cold damp. The drops of mist make drops on Alexis’ hat that never seem to actually fall.

After a stretch of silence, Alexis speaks to Ca’armine—low enough that the words barely rise over the muffled creak of leather and the steady rhythm of hooves.
“Since we left the ferryman, I’ve been thinking.”

He turns his head just enough for Ca’armine to hear him clearly. “You said you didn’t want to interfere with Raiden’s plan for Morwraith to be undead.” Alexis’s tone isn’t challenging, just curious—careful, like a man testing thin ice. “But it was my understanding that all the gods stand against the undead. The mantle”—he jerks his chin toward Gustav—“makes it pretty clear how Raiden feels about undeath.”

Alexis turns the Collegium ring around his finger. “I’m not sure Raiden made Morwraith what he is.”

He glances sidelong at Ca’armine, waiting a beat for a reply. When none comes, Alexis adjusts his hat and looks forward again, pace unbroken. The road bends into deeper mist.

Choose Life

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A couple days after the fight with Verisimus and his gang, Rask approaches Ca’armine. Joyful and excited, but not exactly exuberant, he is still a soldier after all.

“Ca’arm, that felt really good. I mean the power or Raiden flowing through me was incredible,I always love that! But beating Ironjaw and Blackpike but not killing them. I wish we had stopped Verisimus for good, and I’m not sure what we would have done if I had knocked him out… But not killing… defeating the enemy without killing them…. that is a true victory!”

Rask is clearly excited about this new insight, but still a little unsure, and he looks to Ca’armine with a desire for confirmation an understanding as much as with joy and celebration.

Black Blades, Betrayal and Beyond

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Shortly after Ca’armine and Alexis finish discussing the words of Ness Brightleaf, or at least the river of souls and the soul of Zrithak that refused to sleep, Rask approaches Ca’armine, head bowed penitently.

“Ca’armine, I did not wish to respond and further distance us from Alexis’ inquiry, but I do want to respond to your questions.”

“I am no longer curious about Zrithak. Yes, his malice was evident from the moment we laid eyes on him. I suspected something was… unique about the wretch, and I hope the Blade of the Betrayers would capture his soul. I see how misguided and dangerous that was now.”

Rask pauses to see if Ca’armine has any thoughts or questions. He clearly has second point to make though and does not wait long.

“I was also called the Black Blade Ca’armine. Malice isn’t strange or scary to me like it should be I guess… Ursil gave me the sword when he was still King Adelfrid’s First General. He called it the Blade of the Betrayers…”

Rask clearly has mixed and troubling emotions around Ursil and Rasks own journey away from King Adelfrid’s forces as he takes a breath.

“I trust you Ca’armine, I cannot begin to express to you how grateful I am for you ridding me of Zrithak. What I thought would be a strange interrogation turned into a horrible… I wasn’t fully in control of myself Ca’armine, it was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Rask pauses and takes a deep breath.

“The Blade of the Betrayers was made by elves to reap souls. It holds many souls, all reduced to a black screaming rage. I never heard them before I took Zrithak’s soul with the sword. Not in anyway I can point to at least. To be honest, I also hoped to learn more about the sword from… well yeah… Now, without the sword, I don’t feel as full of rage. I am not the Black Blade of Aegir anymore, and I don’t want to be that ever again.”

Rask looks down briefly.

“But Ca’arm… I was angry and bitter before I was given the Blade. And I’m still angry. I’m still bitter. I still want to make everyone who was part of Thater being destroyed pay…”

Rask looks Ca’armine in the eyes, sad but resigned.

“And I am still a killer. The Blade was given to me as an award after my hundredth confirmed kill. I have no idea how many men I’ve killed since…. The Blade strengthened my rage as much as it strengthened my sword arm, but it did not… possess me the same way Zrithak did.”

“It is dangerous, and needs to be dealt with. I trust to you to decide how best it should be dealt with, but I want to you to understand that without Zrithak, it did not have a will of it’s own that I ever felt.”

Rask takes a deep apprehensive breath, glances down for a moment and back to the Priest.

Who Knows About Trolls

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The campfire cracked and hissed, throwing its smoke into the night air. The Crimson Calling alone around it.

Alexis sat near the flames, hat brim low, a copper coin working its way over his knuckles. Across from him, Ca’armine’s red cloak caught the firelight, while Rask sat rigid, a soldier even when still.

Ethelred’s words about troll-powder still hung in the air, fragments of theory and half-formed warnings. Alexis let them fade, then leaned forward just enough to set his shadow across the fire. His voice carried evenly, with the kind of weight that didn’t need raising.

“You’ve heard what we’ve seen,” he said. “Trolls. Powder. What it does. That’s the measure of it so far.” The coin paused between his fingers, then rolled again, catching a lick of firelight before vanishing back into shadow.

He studied the two newest men in the group, letting the silence stretch a breath longer than comfort. “What about you? Raiden’s people don’t waste time. Do they know more about this enemy?”

The fire popped. The coin clicked once against his ring before disappearing back into motion. Alexis didn’t move otherwise, just watched them across the flames, steady and expectant.

Raiden’s Grove Again?

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The group is about 9 days out from Ghanil and three days since driving Zrithrak out of Rask. Ethelred is in the back of the wagon studying, Rask is riding his horse, and Gustav and Alexis are leading the cart horses.

“About what we talked on yesterday,” Alexis says. “Can you make another grove, wherever we stop next? Could Ca’armine help?”

Alexis keeps walking with Gustav, waiting for his friend to answer in his own time.

Post-Gate Reflections

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The group is almost back to E’armos from the First Gate. The group has traveled through the Howling Wastes, but has made it out of them. Alexis is walking beside Ca’armine.

“You know,” Alexis said, eyes on the horizon, “I keep thinking about the Gate. About what we walked away from.” He hooked a thumb toward the north-west without looking. “They knew Bandesingh’s name there. They knew his allies. We tracked the weapons being made to there. That wasn’t nothing; we had a trail, and we left it cooling.”

He glanced sideways. “You’ve said Raiden wanted you to turn back. Maybe. Or maybe… it wasn’t about turning at all. Maybe it was about where to put our eyes. We were looking one way, but the truth was sitting right there in front of us. Or maybe going to the First Gate wasn’t the most direct way to get to Bandesingh, but perhaps it could have been the quickest way, that Raiden knew-if asked, to disrupt his working, or to topple the Hand.” Alexis shrugs at his thought that will never be known and was never tested.

“And Drennos. You said he taunted you. Maybe he did. But it sticks with me—reminds me of that beggar in Sutheron. ‘You may have killed the snake, but the wolf still hunts, the spider weaves, the king behind the throne is coming.’” Alexis pauses to gather his thoughts. “Whatever that poor beggar was trying to say, Rask certainly took it as some sort of curse or threat. But sometimes messages come in ugly wrappers. Perhaps Raiden was working through Drennos.”

Alexis kicks a stone forward, watched it skitter. “And those visions—the ruins of Raiden’s long-gone armies? They don’t have to be warnings. That could have been a clue or an omen of both weal and woe. When his armies fell, they almost certainly left something behind. Power. Tools. Maybe even a key to tearing the Hand apart or to stop Bandy’s evil master plan.”

“So maybe the Gate was a pit.” Alexis nods his head towards Ethelred, to emphasize ‘pit.’ “Fine. And we climbed out. And we carried things with us when we did. Maybe doom wasn’t the only story written for us there.”

Alexis keeps walking beside Ca’armine. Letting the words hang between them as the group moves closer and closer to E’armos.