{{ A story based for Kinarugi Lore}}
Sacrament of the Soul Shepherd Part 1
A seemingly uninteresting evening held the night’s air above Darmshall Castle, just overcast enough to spoil watching the stars. The realm's most Southerly fortress, defensively poised along the mountain and the frontline against the invasion of the demonic Azamul forces. Inside the stone tavern walls of the Silver Chalice the usual comrades of the Order exchange briefings of the day and a few laughs over a pitcher of ale. As the guards and knights conversed, Malik could be seen making trips up and down the castle, packing necessary supplies. A few offers to help were met with a dismissive wave and polite smile.
“Quite alright Lance, thank you. Just a few things to bring over to Kamella.”
Finishing stacking the voyages inventory, Malik proceeded up the stairs to visit with Sister
Amaryllis, Adalian priestess, the rational one of the three Council. Despite her tiny stature and often stumbling over her own words, garners respect and admiration from her actions. Often the actual sister role that Malik never had.
Poking his head in through the stone archway to Amaryllis’s door. “Hey, the sun should be rising soon and I will be departing for a few days. Do keep yourself in line while I am gone”
Malik ends with a quick coy smirk and is met with a placid side-eye from Ama, who is clearly the one to keep Malik in line.
“Don’t sink the ship.” She retorts quickly.
“I did not sink the ship! It was stolen ...” Malik grumbles with a waive, but leaves still with a slight smirk. Crossing the stone balcony on the upper Castle level Malik proceeds to find Tyrarius, Lord Templar of the Order and his oldest friend.
Pushing through the heavy wood doors to Tyrarius’s chambers, Malik did not need to introduce his arrival as he knew exactly what his old friend would be doing at this late hour. Walking past the ornate oak countertop he paused to make a quick selection among a few different alcohols, but of course as always, Fae Wine. Turning the corner with bottle in hand, Malik’s gaze finds Tyrarius sitting in a well cushioned chair, warm drink to the side and books before the graying warrior. Malik slides a less comfortable yet still fancy wooden chair across to the opposite end of the table and takes a seat with a huff.
“Hey old man.” ... “Malik” They exchange a single nod and with that, Tyr slides a book across the small table towards Malik’s attention.
“I’ve marked the reports and sites that we have on the Azamul encampment. Rey, Lance, Vel and my own notes are included as well. There definitely is something larger going on than expanding the initial incursion site. I am expecting you to be able to hash through this and we can devise a strategy, old man.” They extend a brief smirk towards each other as the long standing joke about their relationship.
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It was the early Mercandian wars, when young Tyrarius picked up his first sword, not necessarily by desire but for survival. Also when he first heard of the name Malik Alhder a seasoned swordsman and informant for hire with a remarkable success rate. Malik would end up establishing himself into a neutral guild of mercenaries for hire, while gold was always the end goal. He had much more rigid directives and often was teased by the other contractors of his ways being akin to Kinarugi followers. Displaying honor to those marked by his writs and executing them quickly, without excess. Having the knowledge that all life comes to an end and accepting it’s inevitably.
Tyr would face his first defeat as a young officer against the forces which Malik was aligned with, but not actually face each other in combat til Tyr swore his oath as an Adalian knight. By now Malik had reached mid-life and Tyr was in his prime and a fearsome opponent to face, of which proved to best Malik in combat. The two crossed blades almost immediately at the commencement of battle, both eager to best the other. While their skills in combat reflected back complimentary, Malik believed his experience would give the tactical advantage. Alas it was Tyr’s blessing from the Divines of Adalia that brought an unexpected element: he could heal himself.
While not a death blow delivered but a critical strike which sent Malik reeling and tactically escaped the current battlefield as the forces started to brawl .. only to stumble into another one, of the newly expanding Consortium. These fire bandits had slowly pushed through Tilverton and almost had consumed Fort Merenthal. Having reached just the outskirts of the fields, and still rapidly bandaging his wounds seeing the troupe in bound, it seemed they were eager to join the fray. Malik had already crossed with the bandits before, and now stared down more than a dozen.
There was no strategy for this predicament. Fire mages, archers, and heavy soldiers did not leave a moment of hesitation before charging the injured swordsman. Having not been much a follower of any religion, it felt odd for Malik to reach along his wrist and snap off an obsidian bracelet adorned with a holy Kinarugi symbol. A token of a lost love from the conflicts of war, or from a fellow contractor's teasing gift, nevertheless it was the only thought of comfort Malik could muster. Wrapping the symbol around hand and redrawing his sword as the swarm of hostility engulfed.
“I see you Father.”
...
“I see you”
The words echoed and echoed alone in a vast valley of swirling smoke, spirits, images, thoughts, wants, desires, pain. Chaos seemingly entangled endlessly with Order, unable to escape one another’s gravity.