The Spear, the Dagger, and Erdhal is Dead

[HolyKnight]

((Open RP for anyone that has experiences with Erdhal or could be directly affected by these events. I only ask that you try and put a diary date to give readers context))


60 AS - 9th of Chos at Dawn

Rays across the bay birth a new day, the dial being brought a sliver closer to Mas. Runewick’s longest golden bridge to Yewdale is no more brilliant than at this hour on a clear morrow. On still waters Tanora is glorified by the dazzling crown, a builder’s craft masterfully designed. Mortal dwellers are slow to wake, leaving Oldra’s children and friends to play and sing or make idle noises pleasing to her. Unbeknownst to this moment in time, a familiar fizzle builds, particles in the air shimmer and breakdown, then with a rush of magical energy a rift in the mortal plane breaks nature’s serenity. Birds closest scatter from their trees abandoning their song in exchange for frightened cackles when a figure materializes with a loud snap and torrent of wind.

As if looking through a spyglass from the comfort of your window, not everything is as it appears. You view nothing more than a corporeal image, pleasing to the eye. This was Chos, at the peak of winter, what you see cannot compare to what you feel from the icy grip of The Grey Lady’s hand and Findari at your back. A frail old man knows, however, to the bone and beyond into his soul. No longer in the comfort of his thick woolen robes; instead, he dripped afoot in a blood soaked tunic and once fine trousers. He staggered from the teleporter, passed the hedges, and put a single bloodstained handprint upon the pristine gold infused stone of the nearby bridge.

Underarm something amassed, he managed to stand and look to the horizon. He wanted to see the burning glorious sun, but he stared southbound toward the ocean expanse. A single ship so far away it barely moved. His eyes strained and abandoned the blur and took in the naked forest to his left instead. Bad idea, he winced and revolted against the sight of the erect black column and burning red portals blotted here and there. Eli Travinus closed his weary eyes and mouthed a single phrase, feeling a single tear mix into his blood covered face.

“Thank you…”

Another snap, followed by cold embrace, Eli Travinus was no longer alone. He knew Jefferson Gray would be close behind. Twist of fate, ever changing tides, mortals are but leaves in the wind. They are given to moments, all kinds, billowing together in masses or drifting alone in individual experiences. Chaos in motion but still, they strive.

Two came to Runewick in the aftermath of a bloody execution. One had foretold his reckoning, the other willed the deed into fruition most violently and unexpectedly. Soon it would be known to all, Erdhal— in his mortal form— had been slain by the pair.

Aye, aye, it is to be said that the spear and the dagger twined to kill a master and an oppressor. How endless ambition and ignorant faith came together in murderous rite may never be completely known, nor should it.

Their words and an exchange were brief— later, Eli would forget the words entirely— but the charred black skull of an elf boar into the deepest recesses of the elder mage’s conscience and thoughts as Jefferson wrapped the remnant of the felled demon into Eli’s removed blood-drenched tunic. More forgotten words, like listening to a person talk to you underwater.

Eli now had two bundled bloody masses, one under each arm. Jefferson, the traitor, and Eli, the pawn, parted ways. With Eli, solitary tears began to streak his face. In thought, each were meant and spilled for specific individuals: first, thoughts of Era and the torture she must have endured at the hands of Erdhal; then came, Oxiana and a kindred emotion for his feelings when it came to enduring a lover’s plight; a rogue thought for Sir Exelous and K’shire who missed their chance to exact revenge; quickly to Kyre and Caswir, how would they have faired; and finally, the very thought that spurred his will to press forward— Tarias and Erdhal the dragon. Could the fabled tale of the dragon told to him by Tyan be true? Would the noble beast finally know peace?

Brassius raced toward an unharmed Eli, though he could never know that straightaway.

“Docent! Are you alright?”

Eli nodded wearily with his response, “Aye… help me to the bathhouse, dear fellow.”

Brassius compiled but not silently. “You old crone! Are you ever going to learn? The nine hells you got yourself into this time?” One arm under the old man’s elbow and the other across his back and shoulder they went, passed the meditating elfess, and into the unopened tavern.

Eli could only chuckle a breathless response to the ranger. Rose gasped at the shock of early visitors and doubly so at Eli’s condition. He waved dismissively and comforted her, “I am quite alright, just need a bath and a changing robe please.”

Some time later the unscathed mage soaked his bones warm in a hot bath. He dipped below the surface and cleaned the dried blood off his face, beard, and hair. He nestled beneath the surface until a flash of Erdhal’s cold eyes and smirk jolted him upright. Water splashed and Eli cursed the vision away trying to hold strong to those who would hail his demise.

Eli Travinus did not feel up to the task, he avoided numerous pressing matters, staring silently toward two bundles of bloodied cloth at a table opposite the room. One was his bound woolen grey robe that concealed the ritual dagger he used as the coup de grace against Erdhal’s still living skull. The other was the tunic wrapped skull Jefferson gave him. Eli had wanted Erdhal’s entire corpse, but had watched in frustration as the unnatural entity decomposed into black char soon after it’s death.

He would deliver both to Tarias and hopefully, Erdhal the dragon, to try and verify his claim that the demon Erdhal had truly been destroyed.

Before he could proceed, however, he needed to rest and have Rose pass word on his behalf. Desperate for rest he beckoned for the sweet halflingess. When she promptly arrived, he motioned her forward in urgent whisper.

“I need you to do me a favor, I will pay you for the inconvenience. Once the town hall meeting breaks today, I would like you to fetch Deanna and bring her to me, tell her it is urgent. Until then, please do not disturb me or tell anyone I am here. I need rest. Again, please after the meeting not afore.”

He paid her fifty silver coins, despite her resistance.

Hours later, Eli would be in the upstairs inn, the cursed artifacts now bound in fresh linen and stored safely in a chest at the foot of his bed. He did not look forward to seeing Deanna, nor did he rest well with more visions of Erdhal’s grueling death and the unfulfilled terrors he was unable to enact.