He had finally made it.
Scaltoth was a perilous place at the best of times, let alone with an injury on his shoulder and only just enough food to live. He was far from the best shape he’d been in. But with the help of Vidar and Ase he’d been able to navigate easier than he would alone, combined with the new powers he seemed to be developing. Truthfully, Ralgar had no idea when the powers had begun, but he’d been seeing through the eyes of creatures for as long as he’d been enslaved. Showing him things he needed, opportunities.
As Ralgar climbed across the familiar river and made his way through thick trees he prepared himself for home, clutching his weapon in hand. Given the circumstances, Ralgar had expected to be nervous. But after being captured so long he’d had time to prepare for this trial, think about what might happen, and in that time he had come to a conclusion - he didn’t care. The Bro’ky’na, the true Bro’ky’na, knew he was no liar or traitor. They knew him only as Deathkissed. The one who had defied the Elders to form ties with the civil folk, making alliances of Spirits and traversing to ancient ruins to uncover the secrets the Elder’s wanted hidden so desperately. Any who stood against him despite that would be handled accordingly.
Yet as Ralgar pushed through the treeline he froze.
“What…” Ase, the Diri he had been given by Scaltoth, spoke through a wavering voice as Ralgar remained frozen. Where his tribe had once stood were scraps. A place strong and bustling with warriors and hunters - diminished to the few buildings that stood and the few left that inhabited them. “This can not be” Ralgar let slip through his lips as he felt so many emotions barrage his senses. Tears tried to forced their way to his eyes and rage assaulted his brain like arrows raining from above.
A lookout in the camp noticed the humanoid figure with two creatures at his side and let out a loud whistle, drawing the attention of the others as they reached for weapons and moved closer. “Stay where you are!” the voices called aloud, Ralgar understanding at least the word ‘stay’. Yet as the few remaining Bro’ky’na grew closer he saw a familiar face.
“Ralgar? It can’t be…” the translator that had accompanied him on many journeys spoke. “Lower your weapons! This man is Ralgar Warborn” he spoke, a look of disbelief and confusion spreading across the faces of all those around as most let their weapons down. The two men locked eyes for a moment and Ralgar saw the painting of a thousand deaths in his eyes. Warrior’s Eyes, as his people often called them. Far darker than when the two had travelled through ruins together.
“We believed you dead, Deathkissed” the man confessed with a tone that conveyed some relief. Ralgar nodded with serious eyes as he looked at the few remaining around him. “I believed myself dead. The Northern Tribe took me. The Maiden showed me no escape until recent time” he spoke, the translator keeping the tale to himself for now, thankful to see a familiar face. “Tell me what happened here. Who did this?”
Shaking his head, the fellow tribesman spoke. “We do not know. They sailed on the shore and attacked in the night. Our people fought but we had no help. Even as the buildings burned high and the last fighters resisted, we were outmatched. Some of us hid, others were presumed dead. But only us few remain, and some others, recovering from their wounds.”
Glancing at Ralgar’s shoulder wound as he spoke of injuries, the man lowered his head as clear pain was written on his face. “There is nothing left of the Bro’ky’na but us. But you. But you must heed my warning Ralgar. In your absence, some things changed. W-” he started before a loud shout echoed across the plains. A voice Ralgar was all too familiar with. A voice he had dreamt of choking the sound from each day that passed.
“Ralgar Warborn! The Falsekissed returns” the hunter Ulfrik, who had been the primary cause of his voluntary exile, shouted with a spear in his hand. The translator began explaining everything the man said to Ralgar as the Hunter continued, a look of fury in his own eyes. “You disappear into exile and claim you can survive, and in your absence, we are attacked and slaughtered without cause. Now you return to us like some King of Death. Do you expect us to believe this is some coincidence, traitor?”
Ralgar remained paused as the man spoke, the tribespeople around him separating in fear of how the Deathkissed may react. All those but the translator took steps back. Some debated which side they should take. Others wanted no part in this feud at all. But all of them had seen more death in this Arc than any other in the history of the tribe. “And all of you! Do you stand alongside a man that left us, in our time of great need? A man who’s weapon was not bloodied in the battle for our people?!”
At those words, Ralgar took a step forward, clutching the club at his side. As Vidar started to walk with him Ralgar hissed aggressively, the wolf looking up at him. “Not you. This one is mine” he spoke in harsh Haltunga, his voice filled with thick fury. Ulfrik watched as the Deathkissed grew closer, clutching his spear tight, body tense and ready. “How many more Bro’ky’na bodies are you willing to put in the ground, Deathkissed?”. The translator shouted out the question to Ralgar in a grim voice as he knew what was about to happen. A fight not only between two rivals. But a fight for the future of the Bro’ky’na. At the question, Ralgar spoke this time in common, with the same harsh tone as he always had.
“Just one.”
It was then that symbols started to spread across his body, spiralling over him, a deep red that twisted and formed across him, burning into his skin as he felt all emotion fade but one - hatred. The hatred of being enslaved for so long, the hatred of losing his tribe and the hatred of looking a man in the face he wished to never see breathe again. Intense eyes pierced forward like bloodied daggers, staring at the hunter who held his spear ready. But something was different. A great strength came over him as the spirit of his ancestors rushed through him in his frenzy. He felt stronger, more powerful than he had before as his grip tightened even further on the weapon, the spirit of the Berserker. This man had tried to turn Ralgar’s own people against him. Tried to break Ralgar down to nothing. Now he would pay.
As soon as the Frenzy had taken hold Ralgar lunged forward with a mighty swing, letting out a loud roar as he used all of his strength. The first swing missed as the hunter took a step back, watching the larger fighter rush forward as his club slammed into the mud below. Perhaps he would get tired eventually, or Ulfrik would land a lucky hit. It didn’t matter what he tried to Ralgar, however. This fight was over the moment it began.
Ulfrik stepped back and thrust his spear forward, watching as it made contact with Ralgar’s skin - and deflected with no damage. It was rare that Ralgar relied on his power, so few people had seen it. Many believed it was simply a myth. But now those that remained had all seen. He was Deathkissed. Chosen of the Maiden, warrior of the Bro’ky’na. Fearless in life and brutal in battle. They had shunned him for what he had seen in the Ruins of Fei. Denied his status among the Spirits. But they could not deny him now.
Immediately going for a thrust had left Ulfrik open, Ralgar slamming his head forward into the other man. It didn’t need to be clean, Ralgar didn’t feel the pain of it anyway, so with all his might his skull slammed full force into the hunter, knocking him back as a cry of pain left him and his nose broke. “You accuse me of treachery!” Ralgar roared, as the club came back around for another swing, this time aimed at the torso. Hitting along the ribs of the man, he was knocked aside as he cried out, desperately swinging his spear as it bounced off once again. What more could the man do than try and fight? Perhaps without Ralgar's power the hunter would have stood a chance. But not now. “You see me put before the Elders for bringing you the truth!”.
Desperation taking over, Ulfrik tried swinging for Ralgar’s hand, hoping to startle him into dropping his weapon - but to no success. Each hit did nothing to the Deathkissed. Ralgar raised his club over his head and let out a loud battle cry, pushing his legs off the ground to give him a small boost of momentum as he slammed the weapon down. Gripping both ends of his spear, Ulfrik raised it up to try and block, the weight of Ralgar’s blow shattering through the middle of it and breaking it in two as splinters of wood rained onto the ground.
“You cost me my people!” Ralgar roared as he slammed the weapon down, this time connecting cleanly with the man's shoulder, knocking him to his knees with a cry. “I will see your body thrown to the sea so it does not taint Scaltoth’s soil, so not even the maggots will be tainted by your filth” he snarled with another swing, the force of the weapon beating the man entirely to the floor as he slammed it down on his back. Slowly, the life seemed to fade from the hunter. Even though the hunter could not understand his taunts Ralgar felt the fury overwhelm him, the rage of a two-arc betrayal coming back to haunt him. He had lost so much. Now he returned to his people and witnessed them at the weakest they had ever been - and he had been away for it all. Enslaved, because of an exile he had put himself in to prove that the claims of this man, weak and on his knees, were false.
Each blow that followed hit harder and harder, slamming down onto the man as he twitched on the floor. After one final, heavy slam the Deathkissed stopped, the rage mixing as he fought back the urge to beat the man’s corpse to a pulp. Simultaneously, the urge to cry ran rampant, tears of pure hatred. “There were children! Women! Friends and families that needed me. And they died because of you. You and the cursed Elders, who trapped our Spirit and lied to us. It was YOU that killed us all!”
People watched as the Deathkissed, still enveloped in his rampage, dropped to his knees and fought back a tear. His club fell to the mud and he looked to the sky with a loud cry, anger and sadness merging into one in his voice before he fell quiet. Heavy breaths pulsed through his body as he shook violently. “Why these people? Why have they been taken away?” he spoke through grit teeth, quiet enough that nobody could hear but himself and his Spirits. Then he roared. “I will torch the homes of any who did this until nothing is left but ash. I swear to the Maiden herself, I will bring more Death to her than any before me! This whole world will know and fear the name Ralgar Warborn, Deathkissed of Scaltoth!”
Then the man fell quiet, trembling into the dirt, still trapped in his frenzy as he gripped the earth below - knowing it was the same dirt his people had stood on when they died. All around, the tribe watched, and though most did not understand the language he spoke they understood the pain he felt. The pain of a powerless man. Deep within his heart, despite all the fury and hatred that overflowed in him, was a man who was lost. He had been Deathkissed for so long, fought alongside the Bro’ky’na for so long. Now the once proud tribe had fallen to scraps. Barely any to pad their numbers. Barely any to fight their wars - yet many enemies lurked on the horizon.
Eventually, Ralgar stood to his feet, still bombarded by rage. He looked out to the others with what little control he had, the desire to fight burning through him. “I will drag his corpse to the Seas myself. When I return, gather everybody. We will not sit here idle. We will NOT wait for a blessing or a miracle. It is time we forge our own path forward. If we remain static we will wilt and fade like a flower that has not been watered!” he snapped out to everybody, the translator beginning to explain his words to the group. “We will not fade. The entire world will know the great tribe of Death. Idalos will quake at the name Bro’ky’na - and those that did this will fear the day they see us again!” he roared aloud, the entire crowd around him watching with intensity.
Still overtaken by his rage, Ralgar slammed his foot down angrily on the corpse of the man below him as he roared out again. There was only so much control he could maintain while in his frenzy and he knew it. It wasn't enough to turn him against his people, but it was enough that he was like a thrashing animal, attacking any who got too close. Perhaps some of them knew as much, or perhaps they had simply seen enough to stay out of his way, as all of those around kept their distance from the Deathkissed. But their looks were not of judgement or fear. They were Bro'ky'na, after all. Brutality was common in the tribes of Scaltoth. What they saw in Ralgar, perhaps for the first time in some time, was a chance. They had grown complacent, afraid of what might happen if they dare raise their hands to fight.
But now, stood before them, was a man who would not take complacent for an answer.
With his words Ralgar reached down, gripping the legs of the hunter as he pulled him over his shoulder and carried him like a heavy sack of grain. He would dump him into the nearest sea and ensure his flesh was devoured by fish sooner than be swallowed into Scaltoth and her earth. It gave him a chance to relax from his frenzy, to let out his anger in a place people did not have to see. So he walked, headed towards the ocean, gripping the corpse hard as his hands started to shake.
~~Haltunga~~ Common~~
