• Open • [Marcovera, Koros, Helice] Too weak

[Varthakh]

42nd of Ashan 719

Four trials had passed since the battle that they had joined with Dosan and Kaelrik, four trials since Kaelrik had been wounded on the field of battle and four trials since they'd left him at the clinic. By now, they hoped that he was well enough to walk without too much pain in his chest. In truth, part of them wished that he'd perished, that they'd return to the clinic to discover that his wounds were somehow too severe and that he'd passed away to some underlying condition they hadn't spotted. The rest of them looked forward to seeing him again, despite the unfortunate situation they found themselves in, the situation in which Fridgar would ultimately have to make Kaelrik disappear. Whatever had happened, they would be both pleased and disappointed, as was typically the case with their many mixed feelings on the defier.

Fridgar padded across the streets of Marcovera in the form of their Llewnos totem, Majad. Their coat was bright silver all along their body with two black and red eyes shining from the pristine canvas. Along their front and back legs, curious black smoky wisps left them in trails. It was their runes, which exuded their aura from beneath the coat of their fur. They stood seven and a half feet tall on all fours, which towered above the people of Marcovera. They all knew to step out of their way as they passed, and they offered their gratitude in the form of gentle nods. Occasionally, a villager wouldn't notice they were there and stood with their back to them for a trill or two, then startle as they noticed the massive feline just a foot or two behind them, waiting for passage. They all knew him as Fridgar, one of the mages that had assaulted the guild of raw materials, then proceeded to hunt down each and ever remaining guild member and mercenary that remained in the town.

Totrial, they weren't hunting mercenaries, nor Quacians. They were visiting a rival, a friend. Someone to be revered and damned. His scent was still strong when they focused on it, which suggested that he had not, in fact, passed away. That was fine, ultimately, as they had other schemes and plans to put to use when the time was right. Totrial was to be a gift, an apology perhaps for failing to protect Kaelrik in the fight, with motivation and a means to get stronger. Part of them knew it wasn't wise to offer something that could so easily grant tremendous strength to Kaelrik, though it served to further establish the illusion that Fridgar had no problems with him. After all, would any suspect Fridgar if their initiate wound up dead? No mage would. And perhaps they would be lucky, perhaps the initiation would go wrong, and Kaelrik would burn up and cease to be? Could anyone blame them for that honest mistake?

Soon enough, they arrived at the clinic, which had doors far too short for them to fit in. In all likelihood, the doorway was the least of their worries. Navigating the halls with their fifteen-foot long form was going to be impossible. So, they changed shape in broad daylight on the street, and the helians bore witness to the grace of their fluid transformation. All their body shrank and the contors and grooves of their skeletal structure shifted slightly to build the frame of a far smaller being, the Stekir. All around them, gasps and noises of startle sounded, coupled with the worried chatter of the Helians. Becoming was not a magic they were often exposed to, and so the sight of such power was frightening.

They stood on their hind legs and reached for the handle without regard for the people who looked upon them with awe and shock. With their tiny paws, they reached around the handle and opened the door. The surface gave way and they fell forward. Once they were inside, they weaved their way through the building and followed Kaelrik's scent. Then they found his bed with a helian at his side tending to his wound. That far away, all they could see was the vague blur of the person who was taking care of him. They waited for them to leave before they walked forward, then leaped onto the bed with a powerful stretch of their body. "Kaelrik," they said as they stood over his legs. "Are you awake? We've come to see how you're doing." Of course, it didn't occur to them that Kaelrik didn't recognize their current form as one of Fridgar's totems, but between being the pest of Eastern Gauthrel, bearing Fridgar's voice and the silvery platinum fur, it wasn't too likely that the Lothar would fail to recognize them.

[Kaelrik]

Kaelrik let out a steady breath. He lowered his arm just as the nurse finished the new wrappings to bind his cracked rib. The bruising had begun to turn the waxy yellow which was a good sign. It meant that the salves and poultices applied to his skin were working. The physician had said it wasn’t a full break. Merely a crack that, if bound and treated properly for a time, would heal well enough. He was rolling his shoulder practicing his breathing through a bound chest when movement in his personal space drew his attention. He could only blink when a Stekir pounced upon his bed with a long feline stretch. The silvery fur and the deep voice set him at ease as he recognized the beast to be Fridgar. Kaelrik smiled at his kinsman.

“I am awake. It is good to see you Fridgar.” Kaelrik shifted in the bed. The salves they’d applied had numbed the area in his chest enough so that he only felt the pressure of his injury. “I am as well as can be expected.”

Kaelrik had been in the midst of battle against the Guild of Raw Materials as it was invading Kephallonia. His injury had been unavoidable for the most part as it happened too quickly for him to properly react to prevent it. Fortunately, he’d had just enough time to protect himself to avoid having his entire chest caved in. The Lotharro sat up straighter and regarded Fridgar. This wasn’t one of the forms that he’d seen the Becomer take before. It made sense though, given their heritage. Fridgar often took the form of much larger and more terrifying beasts, something he suspected played to the other Lothar’s ego. It was almost comical to see the giant of a man in the much smaller form of the Stekir.

“Thank you.” Kaelrik ran a hand through his hair. It was growing rather long and he had the strong urge to cut it so that it wasn’t so heavy on his head. Though he’d spent the past few arcs as a slave, he was not fond of having an unruly appearance. He fixed Fridgar with a grateful stare.

“I mean it. Thank you for bringing me here. I don’t know that I would have made it without your help.” The Lotharen Defier chuckled. He raised his hands. “I suppose I have a lot more learning to do. It has been a long time since I’ve fought against so many opponents. Even longer since I’ve gone toe to toe with a beast of Gauthrel. Maybe I’m falling out of practice.”

Kaelrik wasn’t altogether pleased with his performance during the battle. While he had quite easily burned away some men to cinders or sent them hurtling through the air with a well placed gust, none of it had been with his pure prowess as a warrior. His own skills with his fists and with his blade were sorely lacking. Everything he’d been able to accomplish during the battle had been because he’d been able to keep large groups of foes at bay with grand displays. It didn’t trade the fact that in close quarters combat, against a more skilled opponent, Kaelrik was easily outmatched.

[Varthakh]

Kaelrik was awake, whether they were thankful or not was yet to be decided. the Stekir smiled, as much as a feline was capable of smiling, that was. As expected, he was still wounded. So Alistair hadn't been by to see him? Interesting, why not? Their Kindal exuded an aura of healing, one that could have quite easily repaired Kaelrik's ribs... But there they were in pieces. Still the optimist, Kaelrik said that he was doing as well as he could be. Fridgar nodded in understanding, though they didn't really care how well he was. Their inquiry was merely some trivial social obligation that Fridgar needed to ask in order to maintain their human mask. "Ribs are a nasty one," they said with a mewl. "Not much you can do for them but rest... They'll repair in time, though." They offered their assurance with the bad news. Fridgar knew, for they too had spent a good half a season in bed with broken ribs after their first encounter with a hone user.

Thankfully, Fridgar remained unaware of Kaelrik's thoughts on their current form. Surely, if Kaelrik had said even half his thoughts on the comical idea of Fridgar being a Stekir, the Lothar would have several claw wounds as well as broken ribs. The stekir carried unbridled anger in its stomach, something that not even Fridgar could match, nor temper. One trial in gauthrel, all it took was for one unfortunate Lothar to call Fridgar a stekir while in their stekir totem to trigger them. That flare of anger was enough to spur the creature into a frenzy. Legend has it that the Lothar's hair, to this trial, has not grown back.

The Lothar thanked them, and the Stekir bowed their head modestly. Yes, they'd probably saved Kaelrik's life. Who knew what the Kephallonian's would have done with him? Who knew how long Kaelrik could go before actually breaking his rib and puncturing his lung? It seemed that the Lothar had a lot to be grateful for, though the feline maintained their modest mask. A thought crossed their mind while Kaelrik went on to say that he didn't know if he could have made it without their help. Did that not mean that the honor-bound man owed them his life? Fridgar tilted their head as he spoke onward of how he had a lot more training to do, that he hadn't seen real battle in a long time and he hadn't seen the adversity of the endless plains either.

Fridgar nodded with a smile. "Yes... Your performance was... Underwhelming," they said with a half squint and a jostle of their head, as though they cringed while they tried to think of an apt word. With that, they took a glance to his eyes, and their piercing red rings drank his expression. When the anger began to build, they looked away and pressed their paws to his legs. At once, two runes manifested on him; runes of weakness at their full strength. All of a sudden, Kaelrik seemed to weigh ten times more than he usually did as gravity actively worked against him. An impossible pressure was pulling him into the bed, denying him escape. The effect then spread to his entire body as they cast diffuse, and his whole being was suddenly pinned to the bed. Even talking was a struggle as the world pulled down on his jaw. He was theirs.

"Let us speak truthfully, Kaelrik," The Stekir bared their fangs. "If not for the grace of those above you, Alistair, ourselves and a few others, we're certain, you'd be dead totrial. Are we not mistaken?" They barely gave him time to answer, but the window was still there. "You are too weak, and we are strong... Without the elements to carry you, do you really think you will ever be strong enough to kill a Lurker? Will you ever restore your honor?" They looked into his eyes again, and their claws tensed with the threat to pierce the skin of his thighs as the anger built. They looked away then and hissed to themselves.

"But it doesn't have to be that way," they offered after a pause. "We can make you strong. Strong enough to crush and break whoever and whatever stands in your way, even that lurker." With that, they reached to Kaelrik's head and gripped his hair. Carefully, they pulled his head to have him look down at his own legs, where the red and black runes raged. Something about having the Lothar helpless before them, their sparks found incredibly satisfying. "We can give you these runes, the magic of hone, as we did for Alistair..." They pressed their paw to his head and laid it back against the bed. "Would you like that?" They asked with a tilt of their head. behind them, their tail rose to stand tall while they sat upon his lap. "Of course... We'd like something from you if you decide that you do want this power."

[Kaelrik]

The fatigue, when it came, was startling. Fridgar’s actions, even more so. His eyes went wide as the runes flared to life on his legs where the other Lotharro’s paws pressed into his legs. Kaelrik gasped at the sudden onset of the utter drain on his body. He tried to move but the effort was monumentally difficult and only resulted in him flopping back onto the sheets of the bed. The young Defier grit his teeth and tried to push himself up but it seemed all strength was slowly draining from his limbs. He sunk back, weighed down by the Lothar who prowled above him and could only stare at Fridgar as the Becomer echoed words that had been spinning in Kaelrik’s consciousness for season after season.

You are too weak…

As if to attempt to defy the other man’s words, Kaelrik tried yet again to push himself up. He only succeeded in inducing another wave of exhaustion that nearly caused him to black out. It was true. Kaelrik had always been too weak. Too weak to step out of the shadow of his father back home among the Fields of Gauthrel. He’d been too weak to pursue power with Alistair when they’d first met in Ne’haer. He’d been too weak to protect his brother and his comrades in the fight against the Lurker. He’d been too weak of a man to give Alistair what he’d needed so his Kindal had found it with another man. He’d even been too weak to make it through the whole of the battle at Kephallonia without being grievously injured.

…too weak…

He fell back, straining for breath even as Fridgar made his offer. The Stekir’s paws grasped him gently but firmly and guided him to look at the runes burning on his legs. He realized fully then that he was completely at the mercy of the ferocious Lothar who was perched atop him. Fridgar could do anything to him and he was powerless to stop it. He could have used the claws of the Stekir to rip into his flesh and Kaelrik wouldn’t have been able to lift a finger to prevent it. He’d seen the bloodshed caused at Fridgar’s hands. He’d seen how easy it was for the man to rip into others. Death came as easy to Fridgar as breathing. And for the first time since meeting the other Lothar, Kaelrik was truly afraid. His heart beat faster in his chest even as he was lowered gently back onto the bed.

Fridgar was making him an offer. He was offering to give him the power of Hone. The magic that had so altered their Kindal and turned Alistair into a god among men. Eyeing the dark runes that swallowed light upon the silvery beast’s form, Kaelrik realized he was in the presence of another god. Only where Alistair brought with him forces of Light and Life, Fridgar was his opposite. Fridgar was a god of Death and Darkness. In his mind’s eye, Kaelrik saw himself standing beside the two of them. He saw himself being able to crush the Lurker that still plagued his nightmares. He saw himself being able to exact sweet vengeance on every single one of the cruel men and women who had toyed with his body for pleasure and sport. He couldn’t deny that he wanted those things. He couldn’t deny that on some level, he wanted that power.

But Kaelrik had made a promise, long ago. He had promised to never lose himself to the depths of magic. But he was already lost. Kaelrik had been lost for such a long time. He’d been searching for a way forward. Maybe, just maybe, this was it.

Swallowing and summoning as much strength as he could just to get the words out of his throat, Kaelrik spoke through clenched teeth.

“Wh-what…do you want?”

[Varthakh]

They felt it all, saw it all, Kaelrik's fear, his apprehension, and regret. He realized he was helpless, realized he was weak and powerless to try and stop the Stekir from whatever fate that it wished upon him. For now, though, that fate was more of a boon, at least in their eyes. The mage's narcissism and arrogance blinded them from seeing otherwise, and they saw no reason for Kaelrik to refuse. After all, he was afraid, indebted to them and weak. Everything weighed in Fridgar's favor, and they took advantage of such. With blatant sadistic glee, they watched as he struggled and squirmed against the invisible binds, that was the weight of his own muscle and had to suppress their joy, lest they break character and laugh at him. But then, would the Fridgar Kaelrik knew really have done this to him? Driven such hard truths into his mind?

Finally, he submit. And Fridgar grinned, releasing the pressure of their claws. Wh-what…do you want? He asked, and the Stekir purred joyously. "Nothing of consequence," they said with a distinct hum. "If anything, you already owe us such service for your timely rescue... If not for us, you surely would have perished to the Quacians, as you said." The stekir lifted to their feet and prowled a little closer to the man. Carefully, they placed their light, small paw against the spot on his ribs that they knew he'd been struck. They looked at him with their red, hungry irises and tilted their head again.

"We would make you ours," they said at last. "Not as a slave or a whore, but as a free man, something of a squire... A warrior in training." They looked up and down his form then, recognizing his musculature and the little strength he possessed compared to what he could have. "Stay yourself under our wing, and we will make you strong... You will be cared for and nurtured to your strongest, and all will know not to stand in your way, else they meet our jaws." Their offer was generous, to say the least. After all, who wouldn't want to be cared for by a god? "We would have you swear loyalty to us, take Alistair's offer of freedom and serve under us instead." They looked him over after they'd made their offer, searching for signs of doubt or hesitation.

"Is that not what you want, Lothar?" Came their echo as their paw lifted from Kaelrik's wound. "Strength, boundless strength in return for your loyalty..." The feline curled then and laid upon his lap with their body sprawled over him. Their weight was immense to Kaelrik, as though a large tree had just laid across his legs and only further pinned him. "Say yes... And we will initiate you here and now, then guide you to greatness in the trials to come."

Perhaps they'd found it, their method of separating Kaelrik from Alistair... Not with death or slavery, but with his sense of honor. Fridgar had supposed in the past that Kaelrik was too trusting, that his flaws would land him dead, but perhaps not? But what if he refused? "Say no and we will release you and take our leave. This offer won't come again."

[Kaelrik]

Kaelrik listened to what Fridgar was offering. His eyes glanced down to the runes that sapped his strength. The weight of the Stekir, which would normally have been tolerable, was a boulder on his body in that moment. He looked into the blood red irises of Fridgar with an intense scrutiny. For his reservations, Kaelrik could find no ulterior motive in the other Lothar's offer. He knew Fridgar to be a fair, if demanding, teacher from their brief lesson together. Fridgar expected strength and unwavering commitment to facing what was in front of him.

Kaelrik had been running. He'd been running most of his life it felt like. From home. From the Lurker. From Alistair. He was fooling himself, even if he couldn't quite admit it. Fridgar had simply called it like he'd seen it. Though it stung his pride, it was true. Though he might hate it, he could not deny it.

...too weak…

He wouldn't trade one owner for another however. No matter how altruistic the offer might have seemed.

“I...accept.” He ground out the words. The mere act of speaking was exhausting. “On one condition…”

Kaelrik took in a deep breath. He dug deep into himself and met Fridgar's gaze.

“I am free to travel. To leave...but you have my word I will return should you call.” A fair enough assurance. Kaelrik did indeed owe Fridgar his life. He would owe him more if he survived the initiation. But Kaelrik wasn't going to spend his life running anymore. He fully intended to travel. He planned to return to Gauthrel, to learn from his father. There would have to be much accomplished by him before he embarked on that journey though. If he was going to face his father in the way he planned, it would have to be on terms near equal if he didn't want to be treated like a child. He eventually wanted to put Quacia and Helice behind him but it seemed that the festering city of the Wounded God and the islands had more in store for him.

Kaelrik had no idea what the future held. There was so much in flux. But if Fridgar, the most powerful warrior he'd ever met, was offering to take him under his wing, how could he refuse? Kaelrik didn't think there could be a finer teacher after seeing the carnage that Fridgar had unleashed. With his agreement given, all Kaelrik could do was wait.

He would survive. He had to. There was far too much he still needed to do.

[Varthakh]

I...accept. And Fridgar smiled, baring their eerie, needle-like teeth. On one condition… Their smile faded. Regardless of how disappointing it was to hear that they wouldn't have this deal entirely their way, they listened to what Kaelrik requested. He wanted freedom? To come and go as he pleased? It was an oddly specific request, but Fridgar hadn't meant to keep him quite literally under their wing. They'd even told him beforehand that he would be serving under them as a free man, not a slave. They pondered it a while longer, and with the promise that he would return to them if they called, there really was no way in which this could go badly for them.

"Perhaps you misunderstood, Kaelrik," they said while they laid across him. "We don't mean to become your master, well, not entirely," the feline purred while they laid against his legs, the vibrations of their chest abundantly clear. "You would be free to do whatever it is you like, you could leave Helice and go as far as Rynmere or further if you wanted and we would not stop you. We only want to see you grow strong, and to do that, you must explore and see all the world has to offer, then face its adversity yourself, so we understand." it truly was fair enough. Fridgar had become so much stronger in their visit to Gauthrel, and they believed that travel would only help him grow stronger, as they claimed to want for him.

The feline rose then and pressed their paw against his stomach as they drew closer. "But... We would have you swear loyalty to us. We will be your Alpha, your Mentor, your Guide... Your Guardian~" They spoke the last one with something of a tone, though its meaning might have gone unnoticed. "And to us, you will be our Beta, our Student, our Follower, and Cherished... Should you call upon us, we will come to your aid also." They meant to suggest a bond not too dissimilar from the life bond with their last two descriptions, but Kaelrik was welcome to interpret them how he would.

Once that was done, Fridgar straightened up and rolled their shoulders. "The initiation is straight forward... We will place six runes on your body, all will debilitate you in some way or other, then a seventh on your chest, which will name you as a Runewright." With that, they pressed their paw to each of his arms, and the two lost their sense of touch, numb to the world. "Normally, a seventh rune placed on any living person will char their soul and body and destroy them, but to initiate into hone, you will need to endure that flow of ether." They placed another rune upon his head, and the world went black. There was no more sight, he was blind. "If you let it overtake you or let it carry you away... The person you are will cease to be and you will become a Felwright." With a press of their paw to his stomach, another rune appeared, though it changed nothing but an even deeper weakness in his gut.

Unknown to the paralyzed, debilitated Lothar, all over his body were crimson web-like runes that sprawled in tapestries and sought to devour his body with their malign darkness. "Brace yourself, for this will be difficult..." Their use of umbral runes assured that, though as an Umbral Runewright, they had little choice. They weren't able to place core runes on other living beings, only themselves. With all said and done, they realized that their next move could very well kill Kaelrik. They hesitated, then spoke. "If something goes wrong, know that we admire you," they said, then pressed their paw to his left pectoral and drew the rune of naming, which was shapeless at first.

All at once, all their runes flared in a bright spark of power and the defier's body flooded with the Protean's Ether. It was violent and destructive, and Kaelrik would have to fight with all his strength to keep afloat. While their paw pressed to the shifting rune of naming, Kaelrik's core was displayed before them...

[Kaelrik]

Fridgar’s proposition was a curious one. Kaelrik studied the Stekir in front of him. His kinsman provided very little insight into the reasons why he was undertaking the endeavor of training him. But then Kaelrik thought back to the brief lesson that the two of them had shared together. In truth, it was hard to reconcile the two men. Fridgar before had been filled with emotion. So much so that he almost seemed to be overwhelmed by it. There was a raw passion to the man that had taught him how to better hone the strength of his body. The man before him, that had sapped him of his strength and who now prowled above him seemed so beastly by comparison. Kaelrik could only imagine that it had something to do with the very darkness that was now spiraling its way into his body. For the briefest of moment, he considered changing his mind but there was nothing to be done. He’d accepted Fridgar’s offer. He’d given his word and his kinsman had given his.

Regardless, any desire to speak was driven from him as the mere strength to do so seemed to take a monumental effort. He heard more of Fridgar words and caught the hint of something in them. Kaelrik couldn’t quite place it. It stirred something inside of him and he was reminded of a bond he shared with the man whom Fridgar had once called his own. His thoughts were scattered before anything coherent could be formed however. As soon enough, Fridgar was placing more runes upon his body and Kaelrik’s eyes went wide. He felt himself grow heavier. Any ability to hold himself upright was completely lost and he sagged back into the bed. His breathing began to grow deeper. His chest rising and falling with deeper and deeper intakes of breath as he struggled to keep himself from panicking.

His trepidation at what was upcoming only grew when the world went dark. The Lotharro stiffened though it was little more than the subtlest of twitches from his body. His adrenaline began to pump. His heart was beating faster. He wanted to cry out in fear. He wanted to pull back. Every inch of his body felt as though it was trying to collapse in on itself.

If something goes wrong, know that we admire you,

And then Kaelrik began to silently scream as his body was ignited with a soulfire that seared down to the deepest part of him. It burned away everything. It spiraled into his body and ripped him apart, blasting through any mental walls he’d built for himself, cutting him open and laying bare everything that Kaelrik was for Fridgar to see.

Off Topic

The stone walls of a chapel rose around Fridgar as he beheld the inner sanctum of Kaelrik’s core being. The light of the Lotharro’s soul filtered through tall stained glass windows, each depicting the ideologies that Kaelrik held dear. Immediately upon entering the chapel to Fridgar’s right was an elaborate window in shades of honey, green and warm earth tones. Staring into the glass and the golden sunlight that seemed to filter through it would evoke a sense of whimsy threaded with feelings of peace and contentment. The simple joy of wind in one’s hair, sun on one’s face, and warmth suffusing one’s body. The longer Fridgar stared the more it became clear to him until a word would form in his mind.

Happiness.

Happiness was important to Kaelrik. Less for himself and more the happiness of those whom he cared for. A sense of wanting to see smiles on the faces of those he cherished, the want to instill upon them the knowledge that with him, they were safe. From this aspect of Kaelrik spawned his nurturing spirit, the facet of him that went out of its way to see to the needs of other and from that derive a sense of simple joy.

Directly opposite of the window of Happiness on the other wall of the chapel stood a window shrouded in dark violet light. The stained glass painted a scene of Kaelrik on his knees. His wrists were bound in chains. A collar hung around his neck and various wounds actively bled from his body. The window depicted a barren landscape swathed in a gloomy and dark light. It evoked feelings of remorse, loss, grief and pain. In the scene of the window, the Lotharro’s chest was cut open and his heart was bare for all to see. It was covered in veins of blackness.

Sorrow.

Kaelrik was a deeply wounded man. He’d lost friends. He’d lost his way. He’d lost his freedom. He’d suffered at the hands of cruel and sadistic men and women who’d used him as little more than an object. Stretching even before that, Kaelrik had lost those he’d cared quite deeply for whether it be to hunts gone terribly wrong or because of distance, loss permeated a great deal of the Lotharro’s life. At the core of this sorrow however was the deep and heavy sense of self-blame that weighed on the man’s soul. He blamed none but himself for the losses and suffering in his life. From the death of his twin brother to the slaughter of friends, to his enslavement, to being tossed aside by Alistair, while these things hurt him, Kaelrik ultimately blamed himself for all of it.

Moving down the aisle of the chapel, Fridgar would see another set of windows. To his right was a window that depicted Kaelrik with chains broken. The glass of the window was that of a radiant blue sky with sunlight above. Beneath Kaelrik’s feet was a lively earth, filled with greenery. His chest was still open but in his hands, which were raised before him in offering, was his heart. It was wreathed in a warm fire that glowed softly. The longer it was beheld the more that warmth seemed to call out to Fridgar, urging him to take what he needed, however much he needed. Hope sprang forth from this warm fire and lined the light of the glass.

Selflessness.

Kaelrik was a selfless man who fought hard to protect others. He believed in mercy where mercy was warranted. He believed in defending those who could not defend themselves. He found tyrants repulsive and struggled every day to balance his desire to believe in the goodness in others with the reality that Idalos was often a harsh and unforgiving world. He was brave in spite of his fears and he had many that laid themselves bare for Fridgar to see. But though he was often afraid, he was seldom immobilized by that fear. However with that came a tendency to simply remove himself from places where he believed he was burdensome, fostering a habit of running from more complex emotional problems.

Opposite of that window stood a depiction of wrath and fury incarnate. Scarlet glass accentuated a depiction of Kaelrik in the midst of primal and awful fury. His normally indigo eyes were alight with withfires that only added to the infernal quality of his appearance. Kaelrik’s right arm was blackened stone, lined with veins of magma. Beneath his boots was a broken landscape that was being ripped asunder by the force of his anger.

Rage.

Kaelrik, once committed to eradicating something, did so with an all-consuming anger that he did not restrain. His anger at injustice. His revulsion with cruelty and almost overpowering desire to lay waste to anything and everything he perceived as a danger to what he loved and who he loved, was staggering. In the heart of the Lotharro, there lay the foundations of a brutal and ruthless killer when unleashed. It was a man who felt no remorse in slaughtering those he believed wholeheartedly to be repulsive to his morals and what he valued.

Moving to the penultimate sets of windows, Fridgar would see to his right a window depicting Kaelrik not as a man, but as a boy. He stood in the one-armed embrace of a broad and muscular man with features closely resembling that of Kaelrik’s. The two of them were each standing over an anvil. In the stained glass of the window the panes depicted a workshop. A great forge. A carpenter’s workbench. An alchemist’s laboratory.

Creation.

Wonder and awe at the simple act of building, breaking, crafting and creating, of beholding the mystery that was the majesty of magic, suffused this window. In Kaelrik lay the heart of a crafter. A man who sought to build and who had a boundless fascination with learning. Knowledge was important to Kaelrik and he pursued it with a tenacity that bordered on reckless at times. The Lotharro sought to learn as much as he could, to discover secrets long lost and to forge new ones to become legendary. In this aspect of Kaelrik was no small amount of ambition and even arrogance.

The window opposite of that was cracked. It showed Kaelrik broken with no light shining through. Only a dark void beyond the shattered panes of glass. His normally fiery indigo eyes were flat, almost dead and defeated. The longer Fridgar beheld the window, the more feelings of hopelessness, weariness, anxiety and depression became prevalent.

Doubt.

Kaelrik had a large amount of self-doubt at the core of his being. He was afraid of never living up to expectations placed upon him. He feared failing in his duties, with many of those fears having been realized. It left a fragile man desperately trying to find his way again. A man shattered who was slowly piecing himself back together.

Finally, at the rear of the chapel stood a statue of Kaelrik himself. The statue was wrought of granite stone and depicted the Lotharro in half-plate armor. His legs were free of any armor save for what appeared to be leather trousers tucking into heavy leather boots covered in greaves. His head was bowed, with eyes closed in an almost prayerful state. His hands clasped the hilt of a sword with its point resting on the stone floor of the chapel. Behind Kaelrik was a silvery-white window through which shone a pale but strong light.

Honor.

From this statue feelings of duty, sacrifice, obligation and servitude flowed. Throughout the entire chapel the soft silvery-white light touched upon everything Fridgar beheld. At his deepest level, suffusing everything that Kaelrik was, he was a man of honor. With that came valor and a strong sense of pride and justice that bordered on hubris. Nevertheless, in all that Kaelrik was and did, he strived to be a man of honor.

Kaelrik marshalled every ounce of willpower that existed inside of him. He thought on the challenges that had come his way. He’d been a coward in the face of the Lurker. A shame that he bore but he utterly refused to let rule his life any longer. He thought on the despair he felt without his brother. He thought on his mother and father. His thoughts even turned to his love for Alistair, wounded though it was. None of it seemed enough to throw off this burning that threatened to char his soul.

Until finally, Kaelrik thought on himself.

He wanted to live. He wanted to succeed. He wanted to be the strong warrior that Fridgar offered. He wanted the power. He wanted to do so many things for himself. And for once, Kaelrik put himself first. If only because in doing so, he could live to do so much more.

With a broken gasp, Kaelrik felt the power flow into him and he collapsed back onto the bed as the charring ceased. Darkness of a different kind took Kaelrik then, the darkness of unconsciousness.

[Varthakh]

Kaelrik said nothing while they were placing the runes on him. They explained what he would need to do as best they could, but wouldn't stop, nor slow. Perhaps it was the fact that he couldn't speak? Gravity weighing down on his jaw? Perhaps it was the terror of suddenly becoming completely helpless, blind to the world that sprawled on endlessly about him, the fear of the unknown. They didn't know why he didn't speak, they only hoped he understood.

A brief sniff of their nose revealed his terror. Kaelrik was totally paralyzed with fear, unable to scream or struggle, forced to endure whatever came next. It smelled delicious, though they knew those notions wouldn't continue to be for too much longer. Soon, their spark would accept him into their flock, and the urge to hunt him would be no more.

As the rune of naming shifted shape beneath their paw and crawled over Kaelrik's skin, their eyes filled with a vision and they drifted to see him at his core. They were gone from the world only for a trill but had plenty of time to explore every aspect of Kaelrik without his knowing.

They entered an empty void, as they had with Alistair. But instead of a series of vague colors and lights, the walls of a cathedral built around them. The stonework was vague and unshapen, blurred, like a memory that didn't encompass the miniscule details of the architecture. One thing that stood out about the design was the stained glass windows, which shone various lights through them and carried a series of images, stories, and tones. The feline took a step deeper into the construct of Kaelrik's core and looked upon the first stained glass window.

Reading the core of their initiate came as easy as looking upon the images, the meanings soon formed in their mind as they had with Alistair. the window they looked upon resembled happiness, specifically the happiness the Lothar wanted for the people close to him. Kaelrik was a kind person that wished for those he saw as his to feel protected. Part of them wanted to smile at the image, but another part of them saw only Kaelrik's selfishness. Did he only help others because it made him happy?

They moved to the next window and glared their eyes against the violet light. They saw Kaelrik, bleeding with his heart on display. They knew it to be the window of sorrow, an aspect apparently so great in the smaller Lothar that it was at the very core of his being. Had all those people that he'd lost really wounded him so? The thought cut them deep when they realized they were the same. With discomfort, Fridgar moved along down the aisle.

This window seemed to speak to them, it was an image of Kaelrik, free of binds with blue skies above and lush green foliage beneath him. Did he present his heart in both hands... to Fridgar? That was how it felt, at least. It was theirs to take, theirs to do with as they pleased. For a moment, they thought it to be his naivety, the part of him that believed in the good of other people and the part of him that thrived off protecting the weak. And it was, but it carried a different name, not foolishness nor childishness, but selflessness. The feline rolled their eyes, then moved on.

The next window caught all their attention, and they marveled at it; the visage of destruction and wrath. Kaelrik had the capacity, in the core of his being, to feel rage. It was a rage that Fridgar knew all too well, the kind of anger that swept them off their feet and carried them through a torrent of blood and shattered bone. Curiously, Fridgar saw no victims in the glass. It was only Kaelrik, manifesting the elements to convey his anger. They didn't need to read this pane for the meaning, but it manifested in their head all the same; Rage.

While they looked over the next window, they thought back to Kaelrik's rage... It was certainly something they could use; a powerful ally, willing to kill and assert his will. Perhaps there was a way of bending that to their will, changing Kaelrik's state of mind.

This window was something they hadn't expected to see. Kaelrik was a child with what appeared to be his lost brother and father, who Fridgar had not seen before. This was Kaelrik's core, and they recognized people as the man did. They were stood over an anvil, a forge and other stations used for creating things. This was Kaelrik's love for creation, which only somewhat made sense in their mind. Was it not more satisfying to destroy? To leave a permanent mark, a message to declare that you were there, that no one could deny? Creation was apparently an aspect of Kaelrik.

The last window was dark, broken. They saw Kaelrik with the expression that they had manipulated and taken advantage of; doubt. They knew what they had done, but they didn't sympathize, nor feel a shred of remorse. Kaelrik was getting the better deal, after all. Perhaps, with Fridgar's help, this window would cease to be? But if it was at his core, then it might be harder than merely building him up. Still, doubt was something they could use against him, a weakness they could manipulate.

At the end of the cathedral was a statue, carved to look like Kaelrik with half-plate armor, holding onto a sword at the hilt and closing his eyes. The whole thing screamed honor, the value that handicapped Kaelrik. It was all very admirable and grand, yes, to assert strength with consideration of one's enemy. But would they offer him the same consideration? Or would he meet his end in a dark alley with a dagger in his back? Consideration for one's enemy was a practice that would end with the warrior's own death.

That was the end of the cathedral, they had seen all of Kaelrik in the space of not even a trill in the world outside. Satisfied, they lifted their tail and padded across the floor before taking their leave out the large double doors.

They woke then, and the runes were wracking Kaelrik's form still. They watched him with their hungry eyes, wondering if he would survive. If he did not, then they'd read him at his deepest, only to see it all die. Their eyes fell upon the rune of naming as it shifted and changed shape. If it split in two, Kaelrik would be no more, and if it settled, it would mean he emerged from the ordeal as a Runewright... Then it settled, and Kaelrik collapsed. The feline looked up at his eyes, which remained closed. His body was limp and his heart was slow, resting.

It was done, they knew. So, they dismissed their runes and drew their power back into themselves. All the weakness of Kaelrik's form was gone, his arms had feeling again and his eyes worked as they had before. "Rest well, Kaelrik," they said, then padded off his legs and leaped off the bed with a stretch of their body. They looked at the unconscious Lothar one more time before they walked out the doorway and headed toward the exit, eager to leave the closed space.

[Alistair]

PH