Racthoh

@racthoh.bsky.social

1058 Followers 813 Following

Cats - Hobbes and Theo Video Games - ARPGS, Souls-Like, Guild Wars, Tower Defense to name a few Aspiring Author - Actively editing my epic fantasy (open to DMs) Software QA - The less exciting day job Step-dad - Three awesome step kids

“But … what … am I?” I cried in equal pain. “A hero, a champion, traits inherited before this form took hold! You have strength beyond the bull. I have witnessed it, felt it. Listen to the music, listen to the sounds of life, one facet of your humanity! Choose to be better, you must!” His pace was slowing more and more, be it from the melody, bleeding, or pain, it was not a concern at this time. I had no way to defend myself from another attack, having caused minimal damage to those tree trunks that some of us affectionately refer to as arms. At last, he came to a halt; I continued playing for a few moments longer before I lost all consciousness.
“I pieced it together before he even started speaking of the rings,” Bedlam confidently bragged as he made his way out of the room. “I just wanted to see how he handled pressure from a threat. The old ones buckle easily, emptying their pockets to keep their heads.” Damion was dumbfounded, his eyes lost as he stared straight ahead. “Charming … ahem, very charming fellow that one, oh yes. Oh ho, yes.” “I’ll be blunt. Can you show us? Can you take us along the path?” “I’m begging ya lad, be no telling how long it’ll take us to get back there ourselves.”
I thought of her as my eyes effortlessly discarded the tasks I had appointed them. I let the darkness, the vulnerability, the uncertainty of being completely defenseless envelop me. I listened to every sore, bump, and bruise tell me their story. But I thought of Rowlin. She was my only motivation. At least for now. There would be time to think of the other elves, and of Anthor, but for now, I needed the calming thought of my daughter to let my body relax and recoup.
“Yet what a fascinating prospect!” Damion shouted, facing the group, his sagging face alight with what joy it could manage. “Alfrost slew her fellow Aru-til followers to gain their knowledge in death. Their thoughts became hers, and every slain necromancer added to her power. Legends being what they are, they say she could stand before a funeral pyre and return to form the bodies that had faded to ash. She could travel out to sea and raise the armies aboard century-old shipwrecks. She would send a throng of mercenaries to attack a dragon’s hoard in spring, raising them in winter’s lull to complete the task!”
Racthoh's Tale: Fire never knew the taste of Anthor’s glades. One morsel set the gluttonous flames loose across the dense fields as its blackened cough constricted the air we struggled to breathe. Mighty oaks were left ashened and hewn. Embers smothered the starry sky like an abundant snowfall avalanching without regard. Indulging the flame’s relentless appetite was a host of human soldiers, both living and undead, commanded to strip the life from my elven brethren as our cries of death were suppressed under the devouring blaze. The complete first chapter for your enjoyment: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1IWZ-thJ1A02M9VXzhFVu5qwp2GmRrYoE10td9AtZM3Q/edit?usp=sharing
Damion lunged forward, gripping the hand cursed by Tyrinal, but recoiling in almost the same instant. His hand was singed, a faint gray smoke sizzling from the brief contact. “Just what did you agree to?” he asked sternly, mending his hand with ancient magic. Clarity was restored. The tirade, no. Not again. What was I even saying? Where was the anger stemming from? Damion had done nothing but inquire and provide details prudent to our success. “Racthoh, why did I hear a cacophony of anguish when I gripped your hand? What bargain did you make? What was asked of you when you took up that blade?” Damion fretted.
As I paced closer towards what I now recognized as my home, I spotted a redheaded figure walk out and into the field behind, slightly smaller than my height, garbed in fine linens and lace. My body was overwhelmed with mirth. I dashed as hastily as my legs could carry the burden of my body, shouting her name as the distance narrowed. My daughter, Rowlin, graced my eyes. Rowlin turned to face me with an air of confusion. When the realization finally struck, she stepped back with a hand over her mouth and the other clutched to her chest. She stepped forward slowly, raising her arms to greet my own. I clutched her tightly; I felt like I was going to break her frail body, squeezing as I did.
I sheathed my blade and bent down to grab the disembodied head as it smiled in amusement, the skin rapidly decaying as its blackened eyes pierced mine. “I know your voice all too well, you damned fiend. You disgraced my home, you killed my wife!” “An elf of Anthor still lives among the humans? I thought my master saw to your deaths, but no matter. He has come to enjoy the hunt.” “You answer to one, my creator, Alfrost. Speak not your lies to me.” “And he will lead me to her. The elves will obey their master’s will, and with their might, she and I will resume the conquest we began over a millennium ago.”
“You were warned,” the entity boomed, conjuring another radiant spear. “I need specifics.” “Call forth the traitor. Make her speak, whelp, or divulge where you intend to deliver her accursed artifact.” “It’s my intent to use Alfrost’s relic to break Tyrinal. My war is with Phandra’s disciples, and this blade will shatter them. So then, be you ally to the unholy cause or champion to the divine?” I explained, the numbness slowly vanishing from my arms.
I broke free, rushing to the front, pushing aside the Paladins who attempted to cross. “Do not! I beg of you all!” I cried in frustration. “We need your help,” a voice muttered from across the gap. I turned to see a miner, his pickaxe in his right hand, while the other reached out trembling. “No! No, no, there is no help here.” “We managed to escape. By Kyi, they helped us all. We’re all that is left, please.” Almost in unison, the others aboard the errant ship slowly raised their arms out, reaching as if they needed us to meet their hands and pull them across. “We’re so cold. We’re hungry.”
The Seasons of Sacrifice. A tale, a cautionary one at that, told through generations of elves and known to the dwarves as well. If it was to be believed, the Fall would see the collapse of a great power or nation of some kind, and it was hard to deny the evidence before us. Tyrinal knew it as well. After Fall came Winter. Much like the season itself, it symbolized the bitter, cold end of all living things. After the invasion, concluding the first cycle, the elves only had one question; would it be Riotion, or Anthor, that would set the stage for the following Winter? “Anthor stands at the mercy of this Order. I need them, Foremarch.” “That we do, friend, that we do.”
My zealotry was deemed a danger. The elves of Anthor placed trust in their warriors, knowing we would protect their homes and hearts. Safety had been restored, but trust was absent. Many of us were cast out, a unanimous decree from our elders, and we were charged to pre-empt any would-be attackers from the outside. I would rely on my hatred and the final moments of my beloved to interpret the order and bring justice to the human world of Riotion.
“Hells and above!” she screamed through her clenched teeth, wincing as she tugged out the shattered piece. Back through the tavern she walked as two younger women entered, dragging behind them an agitated, arrow-riddled, one-tusked boar. The injured woman kicked the boar once, failing to knock it over, before pressing her full weight against it, as she thrust the broken incisor into the wild animal’s skull.
“You’re back, and so soon. It helped then, ya?” Foremarch questioned in between bites. I sat down across from the dwarf, pouring us each a cup of water, and placing a worn silver plate under his meal. I pulled out the treatise and placed it aside. “It did. I’m still amazed you managed to find it within the libraries when you never seem to leave this place. Speaking of, is the city commissioning another vault?” I asked. “No, just assurances. Why do they question dwarven masonry, eh? 35 years since I put in that first vault and never so much as a citrine has ever gone missing. Assurances, assurances. Can’t just be taking me at my word.”
I withdrew Anscix. The rush of ancient magics was well beyond any sensation known in my memory. Returned were the voices and images of the Seven, imploring me to take what was needed. My vision expanded until I could see in all directions. I could hear the beating hearts of every living creature for miles. I was no longer bound to the weight of the world as I felt myself effortlessly ascend. I was hot. My body, fueling the power of the sun, ready to release a nova of fiery destruction that would expand beyond the length of the globe. I could halt the oceans with one command of my voice. I could reverse the falling rain until the parched wastelands were my kingdom to rule.
“Apologies. I am a Sapling; there are none we call parents.” Damion looked at me, dumbfounded. “Ah, you truly do not know much of Anthor. I was born of the God Trees, ancient and vast, reaching to the clouds and wide around as a small house. From their boughs, I sprouted fully as an adult from the Raccoon tree, a Sapling imbued with the essence of Anthor’s creators. My wife, Quale ... born of the Sparrow tree. But our children ... They are different. Sprouts, we call them, conceived in love, not from the ancient roots that feed our world,” I divulged
“I wish to speak with him. Privately,” the Crimson asked of Lonel. “It is a long journey from the mountains of Krale, and your people are well beyond negotiation. Do not mistake the followers of Kyi as fools, for we are men and women of justice. United, the kingdoms will see your atrocities be met with vengeance,” Lonel responded with a commanding, resounding presence. The Crimson looked back to me, then back to Lonel. “The fields will tear and crack for all of hell’s denizens to deliver chaos. The skies will thunder endlessly as lightning erupts the tallest peaks. The sea will consume itself, leaving the land parched and desolate. The air will turn to poison, dispatching those who would draw upon it. The very stars of the heavens will descend to mark the Fall of existence, its finale. Ushering in the Winter, hope quashed by disarray, concluding the Seasons of Sacrifice,” the Crimson preached. The room was silent. “High Priestess ... I will speak with him,” I said.
As the sun made its rise and broke through the small gaps of the thicket, our group slowly made a path through the dense growth. Twisting shrubs, enormous weeds, and all manner of wildflowers were completely undisturbed by the world around them. Pleasant to the senses but a nuisance for travel. The winds were heavy as morning hours continued to pass, and we came into view of the ocean. With as strong as the gales were, I could taste the wretched saltiness of the open waters. I tried my best not to face the gusts head-on. It was a steep drop from the cliffs, at least a hundred feet down into the breaking waves. Serene, nonetheless, listening to the power behind the current. If any vessels were making travel that day, then they did so with exceptional haste. Yet, off in the distance, I could see traces of heavy smoke and fires rising well into the sky, remnants of where the Krale army had most recently struck. I couldn’t place the origin, but knew death was heavily present at the source.
Immediately the free hand of the minotaur plunged a fist deep into the man’s chest, the breaking of ribs unsettling the score of patrons in attendance. “The cooperative ones get to live.” A second, unnecessary strike brought a swift end to life. He dropped the corpse and looked to the back of the tavern where three other bound prisoners were attempting to make their escape. “And your whole group sure isn’t acting that way.” Rather than pursue, the minotaur simply walked back, dragging the body with him, and sat next to a stone platform where two horrified musicians reluctantly resumed their melodies.
Fire never knew the taste of Anthor’s glades. One morsel set the gluttonous flames loose across the dense fields as its blackened cough constricted the air we struggled to breathe. Mighty oaks were left ashened and hewn. Embers smothered the starry sky like an abundant snowfall avalanching without regard. Indulging the flame’s relentless appetite was a host of human soldiers, both living and undead, commanded to strip the life from my elven brethren as our cries of death were suppressed under the devouring blaze.
We hugged, we cried. Their touch warmed and saddened, all the same, the bittersweet feeling I had been left unknowingly wanting for eons. I could hold them forever, never wanting to let go of the moment.
The walls around me burst, shattering into hundreds of pieces. As the ceiling came crumbling down, the fragments dissolved into dust and blew away with the wind. I whipped around and watched as Anor’s flesh peeled away from his body and flames consumed his vulnerable bones. The Monarch faded away into nothingness as his person was reduced to ash. “An illusion, an illusion, nothing more,” I reminded myself as I looked on in horror. The sky turned to amber as it began to thunder and crack. The clouds ignited in flame as they fell from the sky, consuming everything in their path as a thick smoke billowed from within. The rivers dried up completely. The once green leaves upon the trees and blades of grass were now blackened from the terrifying heat. I watched as elves ran to try and escape the fiery destruction, but every step they took left a trail of flame in their wake. Others appeared gripped by some unseen force as their bodies rose to the sky before the winds scarred and broke flesh. They all cried to me. Thousands upon thousands of voices pounded inside my head. Failure, they cried. Traitor, they damned. Over and over, they chanted the same mocking phrases in my head, their voices overwhelming all other thoughts. I could hear and see the deaths of everyone taken by my hand. I relived them all, thousands in every blink of an eye, replaying over and over again all around. I closed my eyes to escape the images, but they corrupted my thoughts as well. But then, there was another. Strike them down, it suggested. Silence their misery.