Zarathas Moonscale
High Noon on June 21st
You grunt with satisfaction as your shield deflects the arcing slice of your opponent's blade. Stepping forward, you make a quick thrust with your longsword, hoping to strike a blow to his throat.
A sly grin faintly showing in the dark shadow of his brow, he dips and your blade passes through the empty space above his head. You hardly have time to react before his other arm, brought low and across his chest in the same movement that caused him to dip, strikes against your sword hand.
The sun blasted courtyard flares red and for a heartbeat it feels like you're carrying a handful of wasps. Then your hand goes numb. Roaring at yourself, you try to will your mutinous appendage back into some semblance of order, but it's no good. Your blade clatters to the cobblestone floor. Hoping to give yourself a chance to regroup, you take a step back.
It's no use. He has you to rights and he knows it. Hissing in triumph, the thick muscles of his legs bunch beneath his scaled skin and then flex, launching him into the air and at you like a living bolt of rage. His clawed hands splayed and his toothy maw wide with the roar of an ancient battle cry, he slams into you, knocking you backwards and off your feet.
You fall, writhing in an attempt to escape the scaled hand at your throat, but it's no use. You thud to the ground, your breath rushing out, leaving you gasping.
Utterly calm now and fixing you with his iron gaze, he pushes your head against the ground, his forearm across your throat. His other hand, held behind his back, whips forward like a viper strike. The dagger it holds, reappearing from wherever it disappeared to right before he jumped, stops only a thumb's width from your left eye.
His stern gaze breaks and a wide toothy smile breaks across his face.
Around you, the watching crowd breaks into applause and cheers. Even though your pride stings at being bested by this odd southerner, you have to admit that his strange fighting techniques were impressive and quite effective.
To your right, you hear the low rumbling chuckle of Zargesh d'Zariel, High Priest of the Shining Redoubt. "Both of you, well fought!! Selkath, your fighting techniques are strange but very intriguing. I'm sure there is much you can teach us. Perhaps you can discuss the matter with Master Thoman."
The pressure on your throat relaxes and the southerner pushes off, throwing himself back up onto his feet. Selkath nods at you, then at Zargesh and then pads silently over to Master Thoman with his odd loping gait. Zargesh reaches down and offers you his hand, helping you to your feet.
"You fought well, young Moonscale. I've only encountered the Katari of the Southern Tribes a few times in my journeys, but it has always impressed me with its quick and decisive brutality. Life in the Great Southern Desert is harsh and unforgiving, and I think that has strongly influenced the fighting style of our brethren there."
He bends down and picks up the wooden sparring sword you dropped, examining the grain intently as if hoping to divine some hidden message within its whorls. He claps your arm with his other hand and guides you across the courtyard, towards the door to his private meditation chamber.
"I could see from your sparring with Selkath that your training is complete. Facing off against your brothers with false weapons of wood in controlled matches will teach you nothing you haven't already learned. It is time for you to go out and make your stand, as all Bahamuti eventually must. Thus, I come to you with a task."
Reaching the door, he opens it and leads you inside. As always, his chamber is in stark contrast to the brilliantly lit courtyard outside. Dimly lit and filled with strange scents from the unfamiliar plants growing in pots against the walls, the room belies Zargesh's northern heritage and reflects the less tropical climate of his youth. Releasing the grip on your arm, he walks to a small writing table in the corner and opens a drawer. From within he pulls out a small velvet wrapped bundle, closes the drawer and returns to your side. He hands you the bundle.
"This is yours. It was given to me when I ended my novitiate and I now give it to you. It served me well in my darkest moments. All of the Brethren of the Shining Redoubt can see the prowess and the skill you posses and there is no doubt that your Stand will be one that is worthy of the ages."
Carefully untying the platinum thread holding the bundle together, you unwrap the gift. It is an ornately carved holy symbol of the Platinum Dragon. Made of smooth black stone flecked with red crystals and inlaid with silvery metal, the symbol somehow has the air of great age and a heavy burden.
"Sages I have spoken to tell me that this symbol is quite old. As you can see, the Great Seal of Bahamut is different from what is commonly used and the Sages said it could quite likely be an artifact of Long Lost Arkhosia. It carry's no magic within, and in fact seems to be quite resistant to such things. No scholar I tasked with the matter has successfully fixed an aura to it, and my own skill in such things is non-existent."
Returning to his writing table, he picks up a small box and pulls out a thin stick of incense. Placing a tip in the small bronze vessel containing hot coals, the incense flares and a thick earthen scent begins to fill the room. Taking the incense, he walks to one of the many thin cushions arranged throughout the room and sits, indicating that you should do the same. He inserts the incense into a small iron holder in the shape of a turtle and drops into silence for several minutes, his half closed eyes seemingly fixed on the whorls and eddies slowly drifting up from the smoldering stick. Eventually, his low voice rumbles back to life but his eyes remain fixed on the thin ribbon of smoke.
"I have no doubt that the Great Lord will have many deeds for you to accomplish before he calls you to serve in his Shining Armada, but for now I have something that is a bit more mundane. As you know, in Helen's Reach the dead, with the exception of murderers and those that consort with the darkness, are interred within the catacombs beyond the House of Silence.
It has recently come to my attention that portions of the Catacombs have become infested with fiery beetles of some sort. Two masons who were expanding a section were attacked and one of them was nearly killed. Until this infestation is removed, the Catacombs are unsafe and the dead cannot be put to their proper rest there. In time, this could become a serious problem. I would like for you to take upon yourself the task of cleansing the Catacombs of this infestation. You will likely need friends to help you in this endeavor. Additionally, the Keeper of the Raven Queen's shrine holds the key needed to safely enter the House of Silence."
His voice falls silent again, though his gaze indicates he awaits your response.
.[/sblock]
