Legends of Belariath
Scathien
The Death of Scathien's Past
It had been three days since he left the town of Nanthalion as a caravan guard for one of Qu'Selasha's trade runs to the capital palace city of Nara`Than for water, weapons, and supplies. A massive amount of mehrials from Qu's personal stash was placed within the cargo to pay for said items and as such needed seasoned fighters to protect it from bandits. After consulting with Qu without letting onto his personal motives she granted him permission to board one of her caravans as a guard. The trip was rather uneventful, except for a single raid near Nara`Than in which a group of bandits were quickly incinerated by a single well cast fire ball into the charging group.
Scathien nodded and accepted the payment of 50 mhl for his services to the caravan, and quietly made his way within the city walls. It was not hard to pass himself off as a native of the city... after all... he was born in the area. This could be somewhat considered as his hometown. His first order of business was to procure himself a room and some food for the time he would be here. Unfortunately the inns in the area were rather expensive, and he was only able to afford one week at the inn that he had chosen, food and drink included.
It was not until the next morning that he set out and attempted to gather information. Under guard, the mage was escorted through the castle. He had given the excuse of wanting to view the palace to see if it would be worthy enough for Qu to make a visit to the pasha. It was easy enough to believe as she had not yet visited the town herself, only started trades with them. He decided to make his movements slow, quietly making mental notes as he wandered the corridors with his escorts. The guard chambers, harem, the pasha's chambers... and last but not least the bedchambers of the Domare Cruciatus, the Pasha's personal adviser and necromancer. His eyes narrowed and began to tremble, nearly unleashing his rage right then and there, but he had to wait. If he attacked now then he would not succeed, the guards would kill him on the spot and he would not break his promise to Marissa so easily.
That night nightmares once again filled his mind, tormenting him, mocking his weakness. He found himself covered and concealed in darkness, the screams of the dead and dying all around him. He shut his eyes and covered his ears to block the images and sounds but he could not. He watched as his mother was raped by a soldier of the Domare Crucaitus' invading army, her throat slashed soon after to leave her to die watching her children be killed in front of her. The cries of his six younger brothers and 5 older sisters pierced his consciousness. Thrashing and tossing upon the bed he was consumed by anger and growing hatred for that damned necromancer. Something had to be done soon lest he go truly insane from the constant dreams. He awoke with a start, flames bursting from his hands to lash out at the closest thing nearby, incinerating a small mouse that had wandered up onto his bed and nearly catching his bed sheets on fire.
He did not sleep the rest of that night, fearful of the nightmares that would return should he cross back into the realm of unconsciousness. Early next morning he was disturbed from his meditation by a knock on his door. Quietly he approached the door and threw it open, glaring at the young servant girl that stood at the door staring up at the dangerous and volatile mage. She began to speak quietly, timidly...
”The pasha requests your presence for a job he wishes to ask of you good sir, your reputation as a blacksmith in Pasha Qu's army has reached far along with the weapons you have made for her army and for her trade.” Scathien quirked an eyebrow quietly, wondering what this was all about. Pulling his ceremonial robes from his back he dressed quickly before slipping out of the room with the girl to follow her to the palace. He dropped to one knee as he was ushered inside of the pasha's throne room, nodding quietly, keeping himself respectable before the powerful man. His job was simple, and right along the plans that Scathien had in mind. He was to forge a staff of steel and iron and have it delivered to a jeweler to fit it with various gems and such and present it to his chief advisor as a gift for all of his loyal years of service. The irrational part of his mind thought of flinging a ball of fire at the oblivious pasha... How could he gift a man with a staff worthy of praise when he commanded soldiers to slaughter an entire village seemingly on a whim? However, he would not spoil his plans for revenge just yet.
He begrudgingly accepted the Pasha's offer, but refused payment, stating that he would speak his price at a later date once the job had been completed. The Pasha found this rather odd, but agreed to the terms. For the next three days he spent his time within the forge, working long and hard to craft the staff from the designs that sat upon his work desk. Flames could be seen as they reached into the night sky from the stacks atop the forge building. Most of the normal workers had been driven out of the forge from the intense heat that the fire mage kept about himself at all times, unable to withstand it. On the morning of the fourth day he was finished, presenting the staff first to the Pasha, then to the jewelers who would fit the holes in the length of the staff with various precious stones and the like to most likely decorate the staff.
By the next day the jewelers presented the staff back to Scathien who then returned to the forge, making the final touches to the staff with various engravings and etching into the metal around the stones. Finally, he etched the symbol of the necromancer into the very base of the staff: the image of a writhing snake wrapped around a struggling victim. When he was finished, he added his own little touch. It was a faint burst of anger on his part, and with this symbol he would seal the necromancer's fate and end his nightmares. Around the necromancers symbols he etched that of a man engulfed with flames... his own symbol. Early the next morning he was finished, and took the staff with him to the Pasha's chamber where everyone, including that damned Necromancer would be waiting.
He nodded to the Pasha out of respect for the man and his position but continued to walk up the steps toward the Necromancer standing before the Pasha. The Pasha rose and spoke loudly to the guards and peasants in attendance. “Thank you everybody for coming on this fine spring day. It is with this time that I enjoy celebrating the loyalty of those who serve me and advise me on my affairs. Before me stands my most loyal advisor whom I trust with my very life, The Domare Crucaitus!” A loud cheer arose from several in the crowd, for it was because of this man that their army's had won their battles and their kingdom had prospered. The Pasha continued once the noise had died down, smiling as he did so. “For you my trusted friend, a staff fit for myself. It has been crafted by the blacksmith Scathien who is visiting us from Pasha Qu'Selashya's camp near the city of Nanthalion. His works that we have seen from her trade caravan's are held in high regard for his skill with the smithing arts.:
He smiled quietly and motioned to Scathien to present the necromancer with the staff. His eyes were narrowed slightly as his hatred began to build, his moment was close. With a hidden rage building deep within the depths of his soul he kneeled quietly before the necromancer, offering up the staff to him as the man clothed in black robes of satin reached for the staff. He took it in a bony hand, running his fingertips gently over the surface as a faint smirk slipped upon his lips which were the only facial feature not hidden by the black hood of his cloak. He watched and admired the glimmer of the jewels as they reflected the sunlight.
Finally he found his symbol upon the staff, and was pleased until he saw what was surrounding it. He growled in outrage, taking a step toward the smith who had by now risen to his feet and stared into the shadow that covered the necromancer's face. “What manner of defilement is this boy! Whose symbol has engulfed my own!!” Scathien quietly took the staff in hand and turned it until the base was visible before speaking calmly with those flames building behind his eyes. “It is my symbol old man... My symbol engulfs your own so that you may know who killed you... It is time for my revenge for what you did to my village and family!!!”
He lifted the staff overhead, flames bursting from his hand to surge across the length of the staff and burn into the base to heat the metal red hot before slamming it forward much to the shock of the necromancer and the Pasha that stood behind him. Flesh sizzled upon the Necromancer's forehead as the twin symbols were forever scarred into his flesh. Before he could recover Scathien stepped back and spun the staff once to bring the tip, adorned with a ceremonial spike at the top, glittering with flecks of gold and silver, aimed at the Necromancer's chest. His eyes widened as the infuriated mage thrust forward, spearing him through the heart and eventually fully impaling him. Still caught within his rage the mage continued to move forward and threw the staff at the seat next to the pasha where the Necromancer normally took his seat. When it was all said and done, The Domare Crucaitus laid against the back of his chair, pinned there by the staff that was his gift.. and his death...
The pasha looked upon Scathien in outrage, ordering the guards to seize him and take him to the dungeon. Before they could reach him however he turned to the pasha and pointed his finger at him. “I have yet to collect my payment Pasha, and for my services I wish amnesty for what I have done here. This necromancer and those he commands destroyed my home village that was a part of your very kingdom and nearly everyone within it less than two years ago! My payment is revenge upon him for the suffering he has caused me which has plagued me in my dreams ever since!”
The pasha halted, blinking as the mage told his story and his reasons. He remembered the unfortunate incident that The Domare Crucaitus related to him upon his return from a trade dispute between one of his mythril mining villages and the smithies in the forge. He had told the pasha that when he had arrived the village was under siege by raiders and none were left alive. He had destroyed the raiders and returned home with the soldiers that he had taken with him. Immediately the Pasha ordered one of his truth seekers to come forth and judge this man's words. As they came forth they enacted Truth Hear spells and asked him to relate his story. As he did they nodded quietly and continued to listen to the story as it was told. Finally they acknowledged Scathien's words as the truth, and the Pasha reluctantly agreed to give Scathien his revenge without retribution, ordering the guards to lower their weapons and allow Scathien his leave.
As he turned to move toward the door, the corpse of the Necromancer began to stir as dark red eyes suddenly pierced the shadow that covered his face, and those bony hands reached to grasp that staff embedded deep in his chest. He began to tug on the staff, pulling it free from the plush chair and out of his chest that now sported a gaping hole the diameter of the staff, leaking pure black blood as his body began to pulse with the fear of death, causing many of the peasants and even a few of the guards to run in fear out of the chamber. The Pasha hid behind his throne now as the necromancer grasped the glowing staff and started to make his way toward Scathien who had begun to turn to face the man who had begun to speak to him. “Pathetic pyromancer... what makes you think I can be killed so easily... I command life and death! However I am lucky that I got a hold of a few enchanters after the gems had been added, and enchanted it to allow my body to live on through even a mortal wound. You can not kill me boy and now I shall finish what I had started two years ago!!”
Scathien shuddered as he felt that fear of death gripping him, that blackness from his nightmares surging over his body as the Necromancer exerted his power and enhanced it with the power the staff apparently held. However as he fought against it he felt something different. He was no longer alone in his battle. Memories of his home and family came to him, images of Marissa... Above them all however was the commanding presence of the flame growing stronger within him. His moment had come, the very reason he had given himself to the path of fire was now before him. He felt that fury and that insanity pushing past that pain and fear and it began to manifest upon his body. Steam rose first from his body before his clothing burst into flames, fully immolating his body. Fire burned within the depths of his eyes and all of the hair upon his body burned away. Naked and seemingly otherworldly the burning pyromancer moved toward the necromancer, combating his aura of fear and death with one of fire and destruction. Scathien's voice surged forth into the room. It was different, almost as otherworldly as he was at that point in time. Scathien at that pointed could have almost passed for a Fire elemental, well enough that the necromancer took a step back in surprise. “You dare think that you can withstand the fury of the fire that you have unleashed upon this world old man? It was because of you that this frail human gave himself to me, and look at the power he has gained in the two years since that fateful day. Death may not take you, but I shall...”
He began to laugh... dark and sadistic as the flames around him began to spread, catching fire to anything and everything around him until most of the room had become a blazing inferno. The Pasha finally could no longer watch, and ran quickly toward the back doorway of the throne room, retreating to his bed chambers where he would call his guards to him should the Necromancer or pyromancer come after him next after their battle was ended. The Domare Crucaitus stared down the fiery visage before him and grinned, summoning the shadows and darkness to him as the coldness of death came to his aid. Powers that he had mastered over centuries of unnatural prolonged life were quickly forged into a powerful weapon as his glowing hands reached forth to wrap those bony fingers around the burning man's neck, oblivious to the pain the flames gave to him as they fed upon his flesh. Scathien halted as he felt those fingers wrapping around his neck and screamed as the icy touch of death began to consume his body, sucking away his life force as the Necromancer merely laughed. “Pathetic.... truly pathetic.... you will never be more powerful than me and I shall assure that by ending your life here tonight!”
He began to increase the power surging through his body to extinguish the life force of the flames around the pyromancer, but soon he found himself grasped by a single burning hand. Scathien fought through the pain and fear with sheer insanity and a desire to complete his task to fulfill the desires that sent him upon this quest in the first place. Fingers clasped over the dead man's face and dug into the skin there as he focused the entirety of his rage upon that single point. Flames surged up his naked body and into that shadow, revealing its mysterious contents to the burning eyes of Scathien. It was there that he saw it, fear.... true fear that he would die as the flames started to consume the flesh of his face and his own clothing. The strength of the Necromancer's grip began to fade while the pyromancer grew stronger, feeding off of that fear and the heat around him as the throne room continued to burn.
”I will leave nothing of you but ashes old man... let us see you come back from that... with this I avenge my family and all those you have killed... and I bring to an end those nightmares that have plagued me each and every night...” His fingers clenched, feeling that giving of flesh as the necromancer's eyes gave way to the burning fingers, digging them deep into the screaming Necromancer's skull as his flames surged forth one final time, fully consuming and overpowering the Domare Crucaitus' aura of fear and death as he shoved him to the ground and climbed atop him so that he could not escape. He felt the man's clothing begin to burn, and the staff began to pulse once more with that hidden strength that fought to keep the man underneath him alive. A foot lashed out and kicked the staff from his grasp to send it rolling across the room and out of his reach.
It was not long before the flames killed the Necromancer. However the end of his mortal life was not enough for him, not after all that he had done to him over the years. He rose from the still form of the necromancer, the dark aura of death still floating over his body. Scathien screamed as a wave of fire burst from his body and coated every inch of the room in the summoned fire, consuming everything within, melting the staff that he had created, and reducing the Necromancer's body to nothing more than a pile of ash as well as everything else within the room...
As soon as it had started... it stopped. The flames were not appeased, but Scathien had accomplished his goal. The object of fear for the past two years and the source of his nightmares was now dead and gone forever. The flames had no sway over him any longer and could not drive him to greater heights unless he so wished it. With that, he pushed away the presence of the flames, every single one of them in the room was extinguished in that single moment. He stood there for only a few more minutes, surrounded by piles of ash and a single chunk of metal and gems. It was there he fell unconscious to the bare floor.
Minutes after the fighting had ceased, a company of guards and the Pasha returned to the throne room, peering within to see the outcome. All they found was a blackened husk where the throne room once was, and a single naked but very warm blacksmith. Knowing that the necromancer likely would have killed everyone else in the palace had he won, he felt grateful to Scathien, and ordered him to be taken to the palace doctors to be cared for until he felt ready to leave. The throne room was indeed destroyed, but it was nothing that couldn’t be rebuilt. He awoke two days later, finding himself in a bed of silk sheets and attended by two very beautiful healers...
He did not recall much of the battle, but he did no one thing. As he slept he no longer had nightmares which meant only one thing, the Domare Crucaitus was dead for good. He started to rise from his bed, remembering that the caravan was leaving soon and he needed to catch it in order to get back to Nanthalion in quick order. He was greeted upon leaving his room by the Pasha who thanked him for revealing the truth and taking care of the evil Necromancer. Scathien acted polite, after all he was a representative of Qu's army while he was here and he did not wish to do anything that would harm her trade routes. It was late that evening when he finally left the palace, fairly sure that the caravan had likely left. Dressed in his old fire mage robes he was about to leave when the pasha stopped him, and quietly presented him with a set of clothing identical to those that he had worn at the ceremony to replace the ones he had destroyed when the flames used him. Quiet thanks were given and the pyromancer was on his way, slipping out into the city only to find the caravan waiting for him outside, apparently on orders from the Pasha....