Upon a Star: Karyana's Journey: Prologue, part 5

Last part of the prologue, and it ends strong. While Medai may not last long, his sacrifice allowed the Chosen to arrive.

"The stage is set..." thought Medai as the immense oak doors of his Citadel closed behind him. The blistering winds of Frostfall whipped at his beard, threatening to freeze what skin was left uncovered.

As Citadel was built at the base of Godsreach, the highest mountain in the north of the Jaeven continent, the weather was of normal cool, even in harvest seasons, which made crop-growing difficult... had it not been for the sheer amount of mana emitted from Skyreach, the gathering place of the Planars. The very nature of the place was the perfect Mana battery, which allowed Citadel to always be watched by the Planars, yet thrive in myriads of magical and technological prowess.

Outside the Citadel's walls, however, was Winterthrone, the coldest region of the immense continent. Frozen wastelands created dangerous roads where frost wolves and sabrecats, along with the occasional dragon, roam. Even as the Citadel's roads linked it to the sparse merchant cities, those that were fortuitous
enough to travel these roads would find riches as well as peril.

Medai left the Citadel with a heavy heart. He knew of his fate, but still wished to give his citizens one last gift before the cycle of life and death, his curse from giving the few who longed to survive in this glacial tundra, the power that only Planars knew; the knowledge of magic. His will did not sway as he walked forth until his beloved city was out of reach.

Almost an hour had passed before Medai noticed the forces that the watch guard had warned him about. Rather than men, they creatures were ragged husks, scrapping the frozen ground in unhallowed groans, while others clattered with the sound of rickety bones, held not by flesh, muscle and sinew, but dark mana.

Leading the pack was the only living creature of this ten-score of cadavres: Pison, leading the pace in a mock-commander strut.

Medai eased his step and braced his war-staff. "So the Planar Reaver delivers death to me in the form of unlife." he spoke loud enough for the demonic mercenary to hear over the rattles and shambles of his troops. "He must truly be mocking me."

Pison raised his arms to halt his troops, then walked on to meet the Magelord. "I came of my own accord, to my Master's blessing." he replied, making a toothy grin with his sharp fangs. "He wishes your life snuffed, and I am all too eager to obey."

Medai's brow furrowed. "You never were one to be ruled by anything but your own dark ambitions." he retorted, slamming the tip of his staff against the frigid ground. "This has no meaning to you."

Pison's devilish grin grew. "Of course it doesn't mean a thing to me. What would be the fun in killing if every death was about profit?" he roared, as his army - those who had enough mana to be partially sentient - continued their puppeteer's taunt by jeers and cackles that would make any mortal cower at this cacophony of dead bones and undead flesh.

Medai knew at this moment that words would be as efficient as stopping him as a hornet's sting to the backside of a dragon. Medai simply raised his staff as Pison raised his arms, causing his ghoulish horde to charge - in some cases, lumber - forth.

It didn't take long before the first wave - a two-score of skeletons wielding rusty, bent or otherwise broken weapons, reached the Magelord... only to end as calcined embers as the staff struck the ground, making a wave of liquid flames surge out from around him. In a twenty-yard radius, snow and ice had melted,
leaving cooled lava and heated soil.

Pison examined Medai like a sage would scour a book, looking for the perfect formula. In the mercenary's case, he was simply waiting for the perfect moment. Waving silently, another score of his troops - men stitched together from multitudes of husks and patched with bloated flesh - rushed in like wild animals.

While the numbers was smaller, Medai knew himself at a disadvantage: the ground was still hot, which would cause the stitched ones' skin to burn, but these revived monstrosities did not fear, nor experience pain. Using what strength his legs could give him, he attempted a leap backwards, but only to end with his boots caught in the steaming soil.

The first stitched abomination bull-rushed him, knocking him down. Hardly having enough time to cast an intricate spell, as the rest of the scabbed forms pined him down, he gripped his staff as tightly as he could before letting out a shout. "Enough!" was all that was said before the piled-up forms started to disintegrate, the dust blowing off of him as the winds of battle whipped the field.

Medai only had time to get up before an arrow lodged itself in his left shoulder. Gritting, he noticed a squad of skeletal archers firing at least a dozen arrows his way. Quickly chanting a counter-shield, he slammed the length of his staff against the ground. A dome of mana enveloped him long enough for the projectiles to bounce off, but not long enough for the next attack wave to come forth: a ragtag mix of lurching and charging undead, armed with more tuned weapons and armor.

Pison took a step back at he gazed at the battle. "Come on. Is that all the fabled Magelord, chosen of Reveen, is capable of?", he asked, dragging his claws up and down the hilt of his scimitar. "I am not impressed."

"I did not come to amuse you..." Medai spoke, as he fended one strike after another from every sword, mace and axe that swung his way before the tip of a lance punctured his armor, slicing into his side.

"Too true... but I do enjoy seeing you struggle in vain." Pison said, flicking his wrist in a brisk movement as yet another wave of arrows rained upon him.

Using the fact that he was caught in a close-quarters battle, Medai grit a fist, charging it with enough mana to push back a horse, then thrust a cadaver skyward, high enough for the arrows to strike it down. Doing a wide swing, the Magelord knocked back his aggressors for about a foot. "More than enough...", he thought before slamming the ground with his free hand, causing the very earth under his undead assaillant to burst forth like a wave, entombing the crushed forces in a more 'eternal' sleep.

Medai breathed heavily as he ripped the arrow out of his arm before looking at the enemy. While he was busy fending one wave, Pison had decided to pull a pincer attack with the rest of his forced. The Magelord was not surrounded by almost a hundred skeletal visages and undead husks.

Pison raised his arm. "Any last words before you join their ranks of undead?" he said with a dark sneer.

Medai looked up for a moment... and smiled as he saw the tiniest of light stream in a wide arc in the night sky. "My gift to you...", he whispered, as if speaking to the star, then closed his eyes and chanted.

"Eternal Light... ever true and undefiled... grant this wretched sinners... the Majesty of Thy Judgment!" he spoke, even as the blade of his assailants thrust through his armor from all sides. As the spell ended, the very light from the stars seemed to shine ever more brighter as a halo of the purest energy enveloped the very field, taking Medai in its center and spreading it through the entire platoon.

Pison jeered and closed his eyes. "What in all Hells do you think you're doing?" he shouted, taking a mighty leap backwards to stay out of reach of the expending dome of energy.

A full minute passed before the light faded. Where once was a battlefield of scorched earth and frozen fields, now stood a crater several men deep. Inside was the battered body of the Magelord, his armor punctured by dozens of blades, blood seeping from some.

The demonic mercenary relished at the sight of the soon-to-be-late ruler of Citadel. "How low have the mighty fallen..." he gloated as he walked towards the magically-created hole. "Here I am, still unharmed by your magic, perfectly able to snuff your life in an instant, and there you are, barely able to stand, bloodied and defeated."

Medai's legs barely held him aloft as he tore away the different armored plates that held his battle-robe. Many were punctured or smashed, showing deep cuts and wounds, many hitting vital organs, yet leaving the heart intact. Feeling his energy dwindle, he whispered an incantation as he lowered his staff onto the damaged earth.

The mercenary unfurled his whip and slid down the inverted dome. "A prayer to your fellow Planars? Be reasonable. They will never hear you, even if you beg them to." he spoke, mocking the elderly wizard's efforts before cracking his whip against Medai's back. The old man only had time to finish his incantation before the snap of the sinew, bone and spurs of the demon's lash flayed his back.

Rather than wailing in pain, the Magelord said nothing. Pison's eyes looked on for a moment before he kicked the old man's side with his bare foot, cutting into flesh with two sharp talons. "Speak up, you old mongrel! I want to hear your last words!" he shouted, lashing Medai's body again and again.

---

Rauz hurried as quickly as his mechanical mount - a steed of steel, iron and magic, shaped as a war horse - rode faster than any mount could. Having noticed the shooting star, he had hastily summoned his carrier and strove to reach the point he had calculated where the star would reach the frozen reaches. "Hurry!" he shouted, as much to himself as to his mechanical horse, as it accentuated its pace, storming across the fields to reach the base of Ebonyfall.

The area of Ebonyfall was named as such as it was one of the few locations where Xelnos was actually defeated. The scape of the former battlefields was cluttered with frozen swamplands and ragged stone formations, the only vestiges of a battle said to have lasted a full night. It was said that in this field stood some of the greatest heroes of Demierth, and that Death's throes held no bounds in this place. Still, the very place had an eerie, almost dreadful aura.

Rauz barely had time to register the sight of the night sky when he heard the crackle of flames in the night. Had he examined the sky, he would have noticed the Weeping Moon - the phase of the celestial sphere where Lady Asuna was said to hide her face to cry - shone.

Stopping his mount near the flames, he was met by a surprising sight: the crash of the star caused the ground to sprout diamond-like pillars - ten, to be exact - in an unnaturally even pattern. In the middle of the vestige was a male form, old and battered, drawing lines in the ground with bloodied hands.

"Who are you?" Rauz shouted before dismounting his clockworse horse. "Identify yourself!"

Before the alchemist could draw his sword, the form revealed itself... as a spectral form of his master's dying body.

"Master!" he spoke in shock before rushing over to Medai's ghostly form. "Why are you-" was all he could say before his own form was pushed back by what felt like a barrier of pure Mana, similar to Citadel's own.

Medai noticed the shock against the barrier, turned to his former apprentice and spoke. "Rauz..." he uttered, his voice echoing as if resonating from far away. "If you receive this message, it means that I was defeated, and will soon pass on."

The young alchemist dropped to his knees, and clenched his fists. "Master, I'm sorry-"

"As few of my people know, my soul is linked to the Firstmage, Lord Reveen." the spectral form continued as he kept to his matter of completing the ten-point star, lining each tip to each diamond pillar. "Yet, before my end, the Weaver of Time herself spoke to me, telling me of her future."

In the center of the star was the cooling rock that was the star, surrounding by dying flames. "She will be many a blessed, and will bring about Xelnos' downfall, and the true rise of Citadel." he continued. "Yet, her life will be filled with peril. I entrust her to you... as once I am no more, Citadel will fade from all memory but yours."

Rauz barely had time to register the last words as the flames surrounding the rock died out. Medai's form used all the might that remained in his aging arms and pulled the stone open, as if he was removing the lid off a heated kettle. Raising from his feet, the young alchemist walked over to the barrier, which yielded as his touch.

"Take her... and be safe... Creation of Fate...", Medai's spirit form spoke before vanishing, making the rock lid drop loudly, making a loud cry echo from within the hollow stone cradle.

Medai looked into the celestial object, and stood solemnly as he removed his hood. Reaching into the broken sphere, his arms held onto the tiny being within; an infant girl with wisps of black hair sprouting from her scalp, her eyes - blue like crystal - blinked as she slowly stopped crying.

"Creation of Fate... hmph." he spoke as he wrapped the baby in his cloak. "You need a better name." Thinking back to his studies of Planar language, one word came to mind. One that meant both the very act of creation and of the creation itself.

Looking up to the night sky, Rauz gazed at the moon that started to show, as she was no longer weeping. "I promise. You will be safe... Karyana."

Author's Note

As said in the previous parts, every views, comments and critiques are welcome.
The prologue is one of the longest parts as it has a ton of information. However, I may need help cutting the sections into chapters, as the later chapters are smaller.