Name: Registered as ‘Wrath’ under the ‘Wrath and Wraith’ dossier entry in official Paean Legion personnel records. Real name is Lukas. Past associates referred to him as his alias, Berserker. Also associated with the title Ar-Tyrius as consort of Leiya Sifreiya, and renowned as her Hellhound in recent history.
Age: 30.
Gender: Male.
Race: Half-Elf.
Appearance: Stands near seven feet tall. Could be described as broad-shouldered, trim-waisted and very densely muscled. Skin sun-kissed bronze and covered in scores of silvery scars and hundreds of tattoos of dark red ink in the slender, sharp and carving script of the wood elves. Fiery hair cut close at the sides of the head but left long on top and tied back from a widow’s peak in a ponytail which falls in waves past the neck and streaked with silver. Clean-shaven face with squarish jaw and chin, sharply pronounced cheekbones and an aquiline nose under a high, heavy brow. Deep-set, almond-shaped right eye red as blood. Looks somewhat older than he is. Always wears a single earring in the left ear that is a simple sphere of silvery metal.
Normally seen wearing a short half-cape on the left shoulder and knee-length kilt held by belts at the chest and waist, respectively, as well as a long glove on the left hand and a matching band holding an eyepatch over where the left eye would be. The half-cape, kilt and eyepatch are of a silk-like cloth which appears to absorb light in changing shades of grey. The belts, glove and band are of a soft-skinned, thin matte black suede leather that seems scaled. All appears somewhat worn, but clean and well-mended.
Statistics:
Strength: 5
Agility: 3
Endurance: 3
Magical Prowess: 1
Bio: Fostered by his paternal half-uncle Lughus and his wife Deiktire – two elderly wood elves – who lived on the stormy western coast of the treacherous Tejis Desert in the South, Lukas spent most of his childhood learning the lifestyle of a frontiersman whose word was their bond and honor, for there were no laws where they dwelled. His uncle described it to Lukas as the desire of all wood elves to teach their children the importance of self-reliance and honoring their word.
Cradled among the web of karst mountains, mesas, caverns and tunnels beside the sea, he accompanied Lughus from earliest memories on sailing trips to fish the coral-swollen sea in their low-slung, shallow-draft, lightweight trimaran vessel Lughus himself had made; to safely farm and forage from the forests of strange, glowing, flowering and poisonous fungi and fruit-vines that grew in coils on the stalactites and stalagmites in the damp darkness; and to stealthily harvest honey and silk from the cocoons and hives of enormous omnivorous, luminescent hornet-moths large as a leg – and the webs of amphibious spider-scorpions with bodies long as any wood elf was tall. Too, spelunking and mining precious metals and stones plentiful in their perilous little underworld few others desired to try and survive within.
At home, he helped Deiktire prepare meals, poultices, potions and poisons from their game and gathering; to record, analyze and organize their harvest cycles; and to train, ride and care for their somewhat-flightless terror birds – the family pets, livestock, pack animals and fighting mounts all in one. Every few days or so, he accompanied his aunt and uncle on trips to the nearby villages and towns to trade, where he learned to appraise and barter.
At the port of Emain Maka – chief settlement of the Southern wood elves – his foster parents enrolled him in the local chapter of the time-honored wood elven youth corps, the Fianna. Then he trained weekly with other youths in teamwork, sign-language and furthering survival skills by collaborative competitions officiated by the elders, like hide-and-go-seek-tag-capture-the-flag on the coast, in the caves and beneath the waves. But always athletics, acrobatics, riding, hunting, harvesting, crafting and hurling – the beloved sport of wood elves played afoot and mounted, which he proved inordinately talented at. Indeed, his only losses were to an older boy named Ferdiand, the best of the Fianna who already towered over most adults in height – and achievements. They soon became best friends and brothers in all but blood. And with each skill, trade and art they earned proficiency, the elders would tattoo their bodies in dark red ink obtained from prey of their hunts beside each other.
Lukas often found himself taken aside by elders for individual lessons in advance of his peers. One elder, an ancient warrior named Din, took Lukas on increasingly extensive and exhausting trips every week to test his body, mind and spirit. Lukas came love him like his foster parents; a grandfather, perhaps, and mentor who passed on his seemingly endless wisdom by challenging Lukas’ growing skills.
And, of course, studying poetry; the venerable tradition of wood elves to tell their history and myths, and to remember the both the mundane and special moments of their lives. Among those tales, Lughus recited to him a poem about his father written by the famed Runemaster Ar-Thorodin Tyrion; his father a heroic elven warrior called Aeny who disappeared after the final battle between Thapsus and Solfatara, later finding secret love with a human woman who died bearing him his son before he died as well at the hands of Malekith, who betrayed and murdered him after Tyr Hannibal’s peace treaty which ended the Elf-War.
When he entered boyhood, his uncle took Lukas on increasingly longer and more dangerous hunts and patrols to protect their range; many wild beasts, dangerous monsters and other intruders laired beneath the earth nearby; wolves, bears, trolls, ogres, goblins and even devils at times. And pirates, often humans or Dark Elves. He learned to detect and track such creatures and their traces while running and riding, even in darkness or storms. Too, to do so while remaining undetected and removing his own traces.
Moreover, Lukas started training in other trades and arts for a land without wood: principally tanning, weaving, metal-smithing and stonemasonry for crafting cloth, cord, leather, ships, tools, ornaments, arms and armor. And to wield them, especially those weapons long-loved by the wood elves when on the hunt and in battle; spears, swords, shields, bows and arrows, as well as the ancient wood elven unarmed martial arts and their mindset – to intentionally incite rage and channel that energy to empower his movements to turn his entire body into weapon, one utterly furious but totally focused.
At least, most of the time. He swiftly learned how easy it could be to lose focus in combat and fall into a state of uncontrolled bloodlust. But his body and mind adapted to the strain of constant effort and need to remain aware of himself and his surroundings; a born and bred survivor who mastered his body and weapons faster than his teachers believed possible for one still so young. When sparring with other youths, he never lost. Indeed, he came to teach them nearly as much as the adults, among whom Ferdiand was now counted as most skilled warrior and hunter in the range of Emain Maka – and its chosen champion.
Upon reaching adolescence, Lughus permitted Lukas to patrol and hunts alone, as well as join the adults when greater threats emerged in anyone’s range, and for special purposes: rescuing family members and friends abducted by pirates and monsters, or retrieving items stolen by the same. They earned his hatred, contempt and wariness; especially Dark Elves for their raiding and raping. Otherwise, he continued his training in the arts he previously started, soon earning approval freely craft and trade his own works.
Every month, he tested his limits, hunting ever more dangerous and numerous predators and intruders within their range; and challenging his body and mind with increasingly difficult feats of fitness. But every new moon he also dreamt the same dream; a petite girl of like age beckoning to him. And as months passed, increasingly beautiful, slender and shapely, wearing the finest clothes and ornaments, her face a fair blend of square mannish and sharper elven features with pert nose and snow-white skin, her hair a straight sheaf of shadow so dark as to almost be blue, and eyes like the icy sea and winter sky.
He soon felt a strange sensation during each dream, drawn to her image as if to a lodestone. And with each dream, that longing rose and fell like a tide that washed over and away all else in his heart and mind. Perhaps it was this which led Lukas to never feel romantic attraction towards anyone and refuse every offer of betrothal. Perhaps too it was this which enabled his unwavering focus on mastering martial arts and survival tactics.
Then came a time when the elders deemed him ready; for nine days and nights without rest or respite, they tested him in all which he’d learned. When all was done, Lukas received a tattoo across the crown of his head to mark his ascension to adulthood – and selection as champion of Emain Maka. His foster parents presented him a war-bow of hollow steel, and from Ferdiand a heavy spear of the same make. His foster brother also gave his goodbye; he would leave that week to travel the world and sell his skills as a warrior and hunter. And a parting thought – perhaps Lukas might join him once the elders selected his replacement? As they embraced one last time, Lukas was somewhat bewildered; when they first met on the hurling field, Ferdiand stood head and shoulders above him – his unbeaten brother of endless achievements whom he’d always chased and compared himself. Now, Lukas left alone at the top and standing head and shoulders above his friend and mentor.
A few years passed. Lukas continued training his skills, spending most of his days away from home, as champion of Emain Maka – whether alone or in leading teams on hunts and patrols to defend their domain. It was on one such patrol and riding alone he encountered a curious pair of ravens roosted in a cave, one crooning over the other, which bore an arrow in its wing. Too, each carried a large gem tied to its belly – gems carved with symbols Lukas knew not the meaning. But they seemed magical, both the birds and their burdens.
With soft words and a softer touch, Lukas put the two ravens – twins perhaps, by their likeness – removed the arrow, cleansed the wound and healed it with a topical potion. As he spoke to them, he noticed they appeared to understand his words and see well in darkness, which prompted a memory – they must be familiars. But no spellcaster lived in Emain Maka; the elders forbid such practice due to the worst monsters lurking in the depths of their little underworld which hunted by sensing magical energy.
Then he asked the ravens: Who do they seek? Of course, they only cawed in response, but their tone, their motion, as if beseeching he escort them to their destination. So, he did. Followed them through the caves and across the coast to Emain Maka, though they moved on from there to a mountaintop a mile inland where a lonely hovel was carved into the stone. With a raven now perched on each shoulder, Lukas knocked on the door. And when it opened, old Din welcomed him inside.
Lukas described what occurred and his suspicions, then asked if Din knew what was happening, and why. But Din only said, “Patience,” as the old elf appeared to channel magical energy into the two gems the ravens carried. From one sprang a lifelike image of a fortress or city, and the other an image he knew all too well – the young woman he’d seen in dreams since his first memories. And from her words he learned more of the wider world than ever before; of Solfatara and the Dark Elves, their leader and the Atlantis, his mentor’s real identity, a rebellion, Ys, Skaha, and of her – Leiya Sifreiya. He’d never felt so fierce a desire as he did then to find and rescue her, the same as his dreams, but only if comparing a puddle to the ocean.
In the ensuing discussion, Din revealed himself as Ar-Thorodin Tyrion, once an Admiral of Thapsus and likely the last surviving Runemaster of the Seidr Order. Lukas learned that Din had been his father’s mentor and friend over many decades before the war with Malekith, a fellow Runemaster who betrayed and murdered his father to start his war. He learned was Aenarion Windrunner, one of the greatest heroes and warriors in recent elven history; but whomever his human mother was, Aenarion never shared that with his old friend before death.
As Lukas contemplated that, Din handed him his father’s weapon; a spear Aenarion crafted of steel, copper, silver and gold to the channel magical energy from the precious runestones set in the haft to cast primordial spells – the symbol of a Runemaster. Din related to Lukas the basic history and function of the Seidr Order and the Primordial Runes. And while Lukas had them not, he still could learn to channel magical energy, infusing the body and items to boost their attributes and capabilities.
It was then they saw smoke outside the window, thick plumes of blackness rising from the direction of Emain Maka. Under his mentor’s instructions, Lukas helped him prepare for swift departure alongside Din’s servants, all of whom were apparently once his subordinates during the Elf-War, having followed their old superior into hiding. They then rode to Emain Maka but appearing to arrive too late.
The city was destroyed. Its dwellings aflame, inhabitants’ belongings stolen and their bodies lying everywhere – men, women and children. And by Din’s farseeing spell, he saw the bodies of his foster parents. He knew whose work it was; the desecrated bodies, the sleek warships in the harbor and scores of armored men searching what remained of Emain Maka.
Dark Elves. Their purpose was clear, and Din’s own as he led them down a hidden trail to the shore; the runestones. With little trouble, they succeeded in boarding undetected an outlying scout ship, killing its unwary crew and donning their armor. Calls of alarm sounded as they set sail, but by then no other ship could catch up as they set course for Ys.
Several weeks passed; and every waking hour not attending sail he trained under Din to awaken his magical energy, channel it within his body and learn to wield his father’s weapon, as well as study the technical schematics of the Atlantis. It was a challenge he relished; a tool to help him avenge his loved ones and save the woman of his dreams. And as those weeks passed sailing to Ys, that sensation of longing only intensified, as if pulling him there – as if she was there.
But as they approached Ys along the mountainous coast, they encountered a wall of steamy mist and dark smoke. Something unnatural, Din told Lukas; no volcanoes burned here, and the season was wrong for such mist. Then, overhead, they heard the roar of manticore. This Lukas knew; the mount of a Solfataran lord. And beyond, seemingly saw shape of a mountain in the steam where Din warned him none should be. As they neared, that shape resolved itself into a floating fortress of vast enormity, all tall walls and towers, dark stone and steel lit by wisps of violet fire – the Atlantis. And across from it where Ys should lie, only a crater which steamed and smoked – and which a mountain may fit inside.
At Din’s word, he suppressed his anger and grief – but could not that sensation which now burned and throbbed in his mind and body as he looked upon the home of his enemy. She was there. He knew it.
Together, they concocted a new plan; they would infiltrate the fortress and split into three teams: one to stand ready with the ship, another to attempt destroying the Atlantis from the inside, and the last to try rescuing the princess. Lukas volunteered for the last task, led by a veteran named Hans. Din, commanding the second team, set their departure time at sunset; a few hours to complete their missions and their best chance of losing any pursuers if detected.
Their initial infiltration went flawlessly, deceiving their way into a sea-facing harbor of the fortress. The two away teams went, playing the role of soldiers finally allowed some shore-leave after a long patrol at sea. His team then ambled their way down towards the dungeons. As Lukas descended deeper and deeper, that feeling from before swelled like a tide. And a feeling of overwhelming sorrow. Hopelessness. It only drove him harder as his team steadily approached the dungeon.
Before nearing, two of their number doffed their armor and were shackled – if left unlocked – to disguise their team as prisoner guards completing a transfer. But as Hans spoke with the dungeon’s chief sergeant, the Solfataran told them he had no order to receive any transfers. Hans bluffed about having verbal orders; the chief refused to comply unless they had written orders and his superior confirmed the transfer with a runner. Hans then signaled ‘go;’ and go they did, attacking the guards and blocking the entry to prevent runners. Cries of alarm went no further than the closed door and soon all the Solfatarans lay dead on the floor. So too did half of Lukas’ team. And as he was the tallest and strongest of their remaining men, Hans handed Lukas the relevant keys and commanded he retrieve the princess while they prepared to escape.
He ran to her cell down the corridor, that feeling surging in his chest. And as he turned the key in that cell lock, his heart sunk and soared at once: there she hanged from black chains, looking so small and broken, so bloodied and bruised and bearing the burden of overwhelming loss. But alive – and awake. His eyes met hers as he doffed the Dark Elven helm set aside his father’s spear. With one arm he reached to her, lifting her up and cradling her to his chest as his unlocked the shackles with the other hand while saying, “You’re safe now, Your Highness. You’re going to be alright.” As he fed her healing potions, he introduced himself as Lukas, an apprentice of Ar-Thorodin, who himself was attempting to destroy the Atlantis before their planned time of escape. But as he set about cleansing and binding her woulds there came again calls of alarm; they needed to leave – now.
However, Leiya was weak from torture, malnutrition and the enchanted cell; indeed, barely conscious and unable to walk well at all. So, Lukas cradled her in an arm, spear held in the other as his team ascended towards freedom from the depths.
They arrived at their harbor without significant incident – several running skirmishes, losing pursuers and re-routes to evade further discovery as alarms sounded everywhere – on to find every vessel there under heavy guard. His team started to plan on how to board undetected, but then flashes of bright light and claps of thunder sounded nearby, across the harbor.
There old Ar-Thorodin stood alone, dueling Malekith himself, but steadily giving ground. Soldiers moved to support their commander and surround his mentor, yet certainly what old Din intended – a distraction. Lukas’ team then made to board their vessel, succeeding undetected. They prepared for departure; swiftly unfurling sails, cutting lines, sweeping out oars and taking in the anchor. But the Dark Elves saw these obvious movements, crying alarm as the nearest score of guards charged to engage them. Lukas carried his below deck, leaving her to the care of their team’s cleric. And as they sailed beyond the harbor’s walls, he saw it happen; Ar-Thorodin slain by Malekith’s hand, his body burnt to ash by wisp-fire.
Spells, spears and arrows flew too late to intercept, impacting uselessly on their ship’s wards as they raced away on full sails and sweeping oars. But not long passed before he heard the roars of manticores. Dark Elves atop them rained spells and arrows, steadily pounding away at the wards while Lukas and another man crewed the two multi-ballistae afore and abaft and returned fire. In the open sea, their pursuers had no cover nor rest; in little time, they tired and slowed and were shot down amidst cheers.
He headed below deck after that, walking to the medical cabin. He knelt beside the woman of his dreams as she lay on a bed and laid his hands atop hers. His vision clouded as he related to her all that had happened, and how his mentor – and hers – paid for their freedom with his life.
As if a dam broke, tears fell from her eyes. She curled towards him, her hands clenching at the fabric of his tunic. For however many hours, he held her there until she fell asleep.
Days passed at sea as they sailed south, apparently to a rebel base in Nathmor. Lukas helped attend Leiya as she recovered her strength, listening in too as survivors of Din’s servants briefed her on the state of the rebellion and the aftermath of Ys’ destruction. Too, he observed as she recovered her spirit; old Din had left her one of his raven familiars, and the other to him. Lukas soon busied himself with training himself more along the lines his mentor had laid out.
Upon landing, days rushed by. A welcome to safety. Debriefing. Introductions to the rebellion. Preparing and practicing for the coming assault on the Atlantis which rapidly approached. Helping brief the thirty assault team members, among whom he surprisingly found himself soon after, for Ferdiand commanded the assault team and ordered Lukas replace a man who died in Ys. As he prepared to depart for the assault, Leiya approached him, thanking for what he did, then giving him one of her runestone earrings. And making him promise to return to her – a promise he readily made.
Beside his foster brother and fellow rebels, Lukas flew towards the Atlantis atop great eagles. The battle began as they neared the walls as spells and arrows rose to greet them. Soon, Dark Elf nobles sortied on manticores and the sky echoed with their roars and screams as the two forces met. Beside Ferdiand, Lukas dueled several and slew their opponents – just like the old days. Other riders dove on the slim central exhaust tower of the Atlantis, trying to drop their pair of explosive runestones crafted by Ar-Thorodin into the channel which connected directly to the power core where Malekith’s wisp resided and consumed sacrificed creatures for their magical energy – and powered the ritual apparatus that destroyed Ys, and would destroy the Nathmor base and any hope of success for the rebellion if not stopped there and then.
Then Lukas saw Malekith himself took to the sky, engaging the diving riders alongside his royal escort in duels as his honor demanded. Many died, and one nearly succeeded. But Malekith slew him as soon as he pulled up from his dive. Soon came his turn to dive, Ferdiand and another man beside him. Malekith and his escorts swiftly pursued them. Lukas’ wing-mates maneuvered around him; warding away spells and arrows, guarding him with their lives to give him time as old Din’s raven guided his aim. The other man soon fell away, badly wounded by Malekith. Then Ferdiand alone defended Lukas. And he too fell to Malekith, turned to ash by his wisp-fire. But his sacrifice allowed Lukas to succeed.
The Atlantis exploded. A fiery sphere of magical energy bloomed and shone like a second sun as a cloud of smoke and steam ringed and surmounted it. His mount somehow rode free on the blast wave, both alive, but singed, bloodied and beyond exhausted. Hours later, he and the other two survivors finally returned to base, where a cheering crowd awaited. And at its forefront, her. Soon as his mount landed, Lukas slipped from the saddle into waiting arms and unconsciousness.
After he and the other survivors healed, a celebration was held, and an awards ceremony. Two leaders of the rebellion coronated the woman of his dreams as Skaha Leiya Sifreiya of Ys, the Queen of Tranquility. She then officiated the awards ceremony, bestowing upon him and his two fellows the epithet and title of Berserker – apparently ’champion’ or ’companion’ in the speech of Primordial Runes. But to him alone she offered another honor; as he knelt before her in front of thousands, she asked he be her champion, her companion, forever and always thereafter. Per the traditions of a Queen of Ys requesting this of an unmarried man, her action equaled proposing marriage. And by the ancient rites of the Seidr Order, it was a Runemaster contracting a person as their Servant.
He accepted without hesitation and she sealed their contract with a kiss.
Lukas then accompanied her everywhere as she formally became one of three leaders of the rebellion; standing beside her and advising her in meetings on strategy, logistics, intelligence and personnel management. In her free time, Leiya trained with him; her to him in magic and rulership, and him to her in martial arts and survival tactics. And developing their relationship; a budding Runemaster and her familiar learning to sense one another, share senses and move in concert.
Some weeks passed before rebel scouts learned Malekith survived. Moreover, a Solfataran invasion fleet would arrive within a week. Evacuation commenced immediately as the rebellion divided into cells.
Two years passed. Missions to weaken Solfatara and Malekith. Further training as a Runemaster’s Servant per Ar-Thorodin’s writings and leftover tools. His reputation soon preceded him as he put those lessons into practice as the Queen of Runes’ ever-present champion and companion. Leiya came to play the role of a diplomat for the rebellion, developing relations and securing resources. While rarely in the field herself anymore, she routinely sent Lukas and his chosen strike teams on special missions: reconnaissance, surveillance, intelligence collection, infiltration, sabotage, espionage, item retrieval, assassination and hostage rescue. They earned themselves their own names: her Hellhound and the Wild Hunt. And whenever not together, they communicated using their raven familiars.
Eventually, Lukas accompanied Leiya to the main rebel base, located on the icy west coast of the Northern Reaches in an ancient subterranean fortress repurposed and repopulated by rebels. Perhaps appropriately named Hel since time immemorial. Some months passed there, Leiya focusing on her strategic leadership role while Lukas handled field operations. It was – normal. Almost peaceful for him, and very fulfilling.
Until one patrol went very wrong. His team encountered a Solfataran scout troop less than a day’s ride from Hel. They were all mounted too on monstrous wargs and outnumbered him greatly – perhaps three to one. Worse, their apparent heading set them to find it unless he eliminated them first. There was little choice. He encircled and ambushed them. In the ensuing battle, the obviously competent enemy split in two; one group dying to delay Lukas’ pursuit while the other broke through his encirclement. They succeeded. Though Lukas slew the rearguard, he lost all his men, his mount and his left hand. And by then it was too late to pursue those that escaped. So Lukas treated his wounds the best he could and marched back to Hel with all the haste of a very motivated but half-dead man.
Before falling unconscious at the walls, he warned the soldiers on duty that the Dark Elves had discovered their base; evacuation would commence immediately, but to safely move all their assets they needed to delay the enemy. He awoke healed, Leiya beside. She then ordered him to command the defenses and hold until ordered to retreat, when his remaining Wild Riders would move to escort the evacuee convoys and otherwise delay pursuers. A Solfataran invasion fleet arrived on the coast only hours later and started an amphibious assault; it was, perhaps, too late. Hel turned into a literal hell as two armies met and stained the snow red with blood.
Over the icy plain beside the sea, Lukas rode a great eagle once more, his Wild Riders beside him. To their fortune, manticores couldn’t fly well or survive long in such cold, so he freely engaged enemy ground forces as a general melee began below: enormous armored war mammoths bearing siege engines and Solfataran soldiers, escorted by more men atop wargs as well as mobs of trolls, ogres, goblins and devils. His defenders died where they stood; drowned under a tidal wave of monsters for refusing to give ground. When the order came to retreat, few would answer. Lukas himself fell from the sky, his mount slain by a ballista bolt. He had to escape on foot, badly wounded and separated from the convoys, and from his Queen after what could only be called a disastrous defeat.
He went to the rally point, only to find she wasn’t there. Nor was anyone who knew her whereabouts, which worried him. So he set out with his surviving Wild Riders, determined to return to her side.
For days he chased news of her. Only weeks later after infiltrating a Dark Elf camp did Lukas discover her whereabouts: held captive by Malekith at Escalus. Lukas knew it to be a trap set to catch him. Lukas knew Malekith knew he knew that. And Lukas knew Malekith knew what he’d do, and what Malekith would do in turn. He accepted what would be. He made a promise to her and he was a man of his word – even to the death. For his death it would surely come by facing Malekith.
With his Wild Riders beside him, they traveled to Escalus. Over several days they scouted the treetop city, soon discovering where Leiya was held prisoner. They planned their missions; one team would extract the hostage while nine others planted explosive runestones as distractions and engaged the guards as needed to secure the former’s escape route. Lukas himself would delay Malekith.
So it began a midnight after their arrival. Amidst ensuing chaos as buildings and branches burned hundreds of feet above the ground, Lukas challenged Malekith to a duel as planned. The Dark Elf King accepted. From the onset, Lukas saw how vastly outmatched he was; despite his foe obviously not fighting seriously, he suffered eight wounds within moments and had to turn the duel into a running battle. All the while, Malekith spoke to Lukas, praising his skill but refuting that resistance was futile; there was no escape and how he wished not to destroy Lukas like he did his old mentor. Yet Lukas remained silent, his only concern the mission. But even with hit-and-run tactics and all his dirty survival tricks, every attack failed. Soon he had no more room to run, cornered on a balcony atop the tallest tower of Escalus, facing Malekith alone for the hope his beloved would live on.
There and then Malekith somehow broke his father’s spear only an uttered word such that it burst in Lukas’ remaining hand, magical energy searing his flesh and wounds. And with that blow, Malekith took too Lukas’ left eye and laid his body low. His back to the platform’s rim, Lukas knelt, too wounded and weary to rise again as he faced his doom. There and then Malekith offered him an opportunity: to secure his Queen’s safety by swearing fealty to Malekith and becoming his apprentice and ascend to rule beside Malekith and restore order to his empire. Lukas refused. Malekith then asked Lukas if Ar-Thorodin ever told him what happened to his father. Lukas replied that Malekith killed his father. Then Malekith spoke: “No, I am your father.”
It broke him, for Lukas knew it to be true as he searched his feelings. How well it fit with what old Din told him. His own research on the Seidr Order, his father and Malekith himself. And how Malekith somehow broke the spear – the way only its creator could by reciting the Primordial Rune with which it was first created as a runestone.
But it was too much. And Lukas couldn’t fall to darkness – he’d not follow in his father’s footsteps and betray all he held dear. He’d die first before becoming a slave to evil. And he’d succeeded in his mission anyways – she was safe now. He felt her, moving farther and farther.
So with little left to lost, he fell back and off the balcony. Through boughs and leaves, fire and smoke, and clouds of pain he plummeted like a dying star, its tail red with his blood.
Eventually his fall ceased, his broken body arrested by the branch which now impaled his side – and from which he hanged above empty air and the plains hundreds of feet below as if crucified in the twilit sky. He drifted into unconsciousness, or so he believed. Visions like half-remembered dreams or memories swam in his failing mind as he hanged there for a moment beyond thought and time. And in a last he found himself standing at a threshold which seemed so very real. Stranger still, before him stood his old mentor, as if reimagined. They spoke; Din answering his questions and confirming as true what Malekith told him. Too, asking Lukas forgive his deception. He did. After that, Din offered Lukas a choice; cross over with him to the other side or return to the world – and her.
Lukas made his choice without hesitation. He had a promise to keep.
On that ninth day since Escalus, he woke. And as Leiya once transformed in the depths of the Atlantis, so did Lukas from Escalus’ deadly embrace. No more could he wield conventional spells, for carved into his mind were the Primordial Runes.
It was then Leiya confessed it all to Lukas, her secret dreams of him for since first memory, their shared heritage and her concerns about them and that truth as twinborn half-elves and married lovers. He listened, accepted it all and confessed his own; he dreamt of her too since first memory, and that he was the son of Malekith, who was once Aenarion Windrunner – what the Dark Elf revealed to him in their duel atop Escalus, and Ar-Thorodin confirmed when Lukas spoke to him at the threshold of Other Side.
In the end, after hours of tears, discussions and resting, they decided none of their concerns truly mattered – others’ opinions, the truth of their relationship or their father’s identity. It their fate, their choice and their happiness. What else mattered more?
They spent several months there; Lukas hunting and foraging while Leiya crafted runestones from the items left in the villa while scrying abroad for opportunities to start anew. Eventually, Leiya succeeded in crafting for her husband a prosthetic eye and left hand of interconnected runestones. Together again, they continued their training; Lukas now as her apprenticed Runemaster, and her once more as his student in martial arts and survival tactics. Soon came a time where they depleted the resources in their little place of solace and were forced to leave.
A month past, Leiya registered them with the Paean Legion as the team ‘Wrath and Wraith.’ In the days since, they completed twenty quests of precarious circumstances and no small peril to build up their reputation as acutely competent and committed professionals, while also acquiring new equipment and supplies – especially precious stones and metals as materials for crafting runestones. Too, testing the limits of their Heroic Boons provided by the Singing Stone. And simply living life together, seemingly free from the wounds and worries of their past.
Until yesterday, when ‘Wrath and Wraith’ were requested to assist in certain caravan escort mission . . .
Heroic Boon: Riastrad, as Lukas scribes it in Primordial Runes. An active, transformative battle-rage entered by reciting a primordial oath and fed by magical energy that contacts him; the more absorbed, the further it enhances Lukas’ abilities: strength in body and resolve; agility in reaction and mobility; endurance in bodily resistance and regeneration; magical prowess in capacity and channeling; and natural and supernatural senses. The combination of energy absorption and enhanced resistances renders him immune to magical effects, ranging from fireballs to feeble-mind.
When transforming, Lukas’ skin warms to a feverish heat and reddens as if burning; blood vessels stand out and throb visibly; heart rate increases dramatically and breath steams; while flesh and bones expand, flex, fold and harden anew. An odd side effect is the alterations to his vocal cords and related tissues, enabling Lukas to howl and roar like some great beast or warg. His mass and statistics increase by factors equal to quantity of magical energy absorbed. Due to his tissues repeatedly condensing, his stature remains the nearly the same.
Lukas can selectively absorb any magical energy contacting him. This enables items or spells to affect him still, including attuned runestones or potions, but he needs to focus to do so. If not in contact with other sources, he must consume his own magical energy or end the riastrad by reciting another oath. Currently, he cannot hold riastrad for more than around five hundred heartbeats in combat. Much further and he risks devolving into an uncontrolled, predatory blood-lust. He remains wary that condition coupled with consuming personal magical energy may lead to death.
Additionally, his mental-emotional state appears to affect the effects, duration and control of his riastrad. While a calm, cool head better prevents devolution and can extend his riastrad duration to its current maximum, anger magnifies his riastrad. Genuine, original rage as a reaction to outer stimulus appears most effective in terms of performance enhancement, though attempts to accurately measure its effectiveness have failed thus far.
Abilities:
Limitations:
Equipment:
Optional
Likes: Mead. Mountains and caves. Sunny days, spring mornings and summer storms. Waterfalls, waves and river rapids. Swimming, diving and fishing. Farming and foraging. Forests. Running, leaping and climbing. Hounds, herding and hunting. Horses and riding. Ravens. Romance. Irrational promises. Her. Teasing people, especially friends, family and opponents. Making mischief. Cleverness. Creativity. Cooking and cleaning. Playfulness and positivity. Playing his lute. Teaching children about common sense. Championing virtuous people and hopeless and causes. His honor. Her honor. Dancing. Dueling a worthy opponent. Being underestimated. Gaining glory. Victory. Fairness. Following sensible rules. Finishing one’s work. Testing the limits of his abilities. Duty. Freedom. And poetry.
Dislikes: Whiskey. Luck. Gambling. Goblins. Ogres. Trolls. Vampires. Devious and malicious methods. People who betray their word or comrades. Losing freedom of choice. Regrets. Racism. Rape. Slavery. And Dark Elves.
Greatest Fears: To die with regrets. To fail her again.
Life Goals: To avenge his mentor. To find his limit. And to be with her, forever and always.
Age: 30.
Gender: Male.
Race: Half-Elf.
Appearance: Stands near seven feet tall. Could be described as broad-shouldered, trim-waisted and very densely muscled. Skin sun-kissed bronze and covered in scores of silvery scars and hundreds of tattoos of dark red ink in the slender, sharp and carving script of the wood elves. Fiery hair cut close at the sides of the head but left long on top and tied back from a widow’s peak in a ponytail which falls in waves past the neck and streaked with silver. Clean-shaven face with squarish jaw and chin, sharply pronounced cheekbones and an aquiline nose under a high, heavy brow. Deep-set, almond-shaped right eye red as blood. Looks somewhat older than he is. Always wears a single earring in the left ear that is a simple sphere of silvery metal.
Normally seen wearing a short half-cape on the left shoulder and knee-length kilt held by belts at the chest and waist, respectively, as well as a long glove on the left hand and a matching band holding an eyepatch over where the left eye would be. The half-cape, kilt and eyepatch are of a silk-like cloth which appears to absorb light in changing shades of grey. The belts, glove and band are of a soft-skinned, thin matte black suede leather that seems scaled. All appears somewhat worn, but clean and well-mended.
Statistics:
Strength: 5
Agility: 3
Endurance: 3
Magical Prowess: 1
Bio: Fostered by his paternal half-uncle Lughus and his wife Deiktire – two elderly wood elves – who lived on the stormy western coast of the treacherous Tejis Desert in the South, Lukas spent most of his childhood learning the lifestyle of a frontiersman whose word was their bond and honor, for there were no laws where they dwelled. His uncle described it to Lukas as the desire of all wood elves to teach their children the importance of self-reliance and honoring their word.
Cradled among the web of karst mountains, mesas, caverns and tunnels beside the sea, he accompanied Lughus from earliest memories on sailing trips to fish the coral-swollen sea in their low-slung, shallow-draft, lightweight trimaran vessel Lughus himself had made; to safely farm and forage from the forests of strange, glowing, flowering and poisonous fungi and fruit-vines that grew in coils on the stalactites and stalagmites in the damp darkness; and to stealthily harvest honey and silk from the cocoons and hives of enormous omnivorous, luminescent hornet-moths large as a leg – and the webs of amphibious spider-scorpions with bodies long as any wood elf was tall. Too, spelunking and mining precious metals and stones plentiful in their perilous little underworld few others desired to try and survive within.
At home, he helped Deiktire prepare meals, poultices, potions and poisons from their game and gathering; to record, analyze and organize their harvest cycles; and to train, ride and care for their somewhat-flightless terror birds – the family pets, livestock, pack animals and fighting mounts all in one. Every few days or so, he accompanied his aunt and uncle on trips to the nearby villages and towns to trade, where he learned to appraise and barter.
At the port of Emain Maka – chief settlement of the Southern wood elves – his foster parents enrolled him in the local chapter of the time-honored wood elven youth corps, the Fianna. Then he trained weekly with other youths in teamwork, sign-language and furthering survival skills by collaborative competitions officiated by the elders, like hide-and-go-seek-tag-capture-the-flag on the coast, in the caves and beneath the waves. But always athletics, acrobatics, riding, hunting, harvesting, crafting and hurling – the beloved sport of wood elves played afoot and mounted, which he proved inordinately talented at. Indeed, his only losses were to an older boy named Ferdiand, the best of the Fianna who already towered over most adults in height – and achievements. They soon became best friends and brothers in all but blood. And with each skill, trade and art they earned proficiency, the elders would tattoo their bodies in dark red ink obtained from prey of their hunts beside each other.
Lukas often found himself taken aside by elders for individual lessons in advance of his peers. One elder, an ancient warrior named Din, took Lukas on increasingly extensive and exhausting trips every week to test his body, mind and spirit. Lukas came love him like his foster parents; a grandfather, perhaps, and mentor who passed on his seemingly endless wisdom by challenging Lukas’ growing skills.
And, of course, studying poetry; the venerable tradition of wood elves to tell their history and myths, and to remember the both the mundane and special moments of their lives. Among those tales, Lughus recited to him a poem about his father written by the famed Runemaster Ar-Thorodin Tyrion; his father a heroic elven warrior called Aeny who disappeared after the final battle between Thapsus and Solfatara, later finding secret love with a human woman who died bearing him his son before he died as well at the hands of Malekith, who betrayed and murdered him after Tyr Hannibal’s peace treaty which ended the Elf-War.
When he entered boyhood, his uncle took Lukas on increasingly longer and more dangerous hunts and patrols to protect their range; many wild beasts, dangerous monsters and other intruders laired beneath the earth nearby; wolves, bears, trolls, ogres, goblins and even devils at times. And pirates, often humans or Dark Elves. He learned to detect and track such creatures and their traces while running and riding, even in darkness or storms. Too, to do so while remaining undetected and removing his own traces.
Moreover, Lukas started training in other trades and arts for a land without wood: principally tanning, weaving, metal-smithing and stonemasonry for crafting cloth, cord, leather, ships, tools, ornaments, arms and armor. And to wield them, especially those weapons long-loved by the wood elves when on the hunt and in battle; spears, swords, shields, bows and arrows, as well as the ancient wood elven unarmed martial arts and their mindset – to intentionally incite rage and channel that energy to empower his movements to turn his entire body into weapon, one utterly furious but totally focused.
At least, most of the time. He swiftly learned how easy it could be to lose focus in combat and fall into a state of uncontrolled bloodlust. But his body and mind adapted to the strain of constant effort and need to remain aware of himself and his surroundings; a born and bred survivor who mastered his body and weapons faster than his teachers believed possible for one still so young. When sparring with other youths, he never lost. Indeed, he came to teach them nearly as much as the adults, among whom Ferdiand was now counted as most skilled warrior and hunter in the range of Emain Maka – and its chosen champion.
Upon reaching adolescence, Lughus permitted Lukas to patrol and hunts alone, as well as join the adults when greater threats emerged in anyone’s range, and for special purposes: rescuing family members and friends abducted by pirates and monsters, or retrieving items stolen by the same. They earned his hatred, contempt and wariness; especially Dark Elves for their raiding and raping. Otherwise, he continued his training in the arts he previously started, soon earning approval freely craft and trade his own works.
Every month, he tested his limits, hunting ever more dangerous and numerous predators and intruders within their range; and challenging his body and mind with increasingly difficult feats of fitness. But every new moon he also dreamt the same dream; a petite girl of like age beckoning to him. And as months passed, increasingly beautiful, slender and shapely, wearing the finest clothes and ornaments, her face a fair blend of square mannish and sharper elven features with pert nose and snow-white skin, her hair a straight sheaf of shadow so dark as to almost be blue, and eyes like the icy sea and winter sky.
He soon felt a strange sensation during each dream, drawn to her image as if to a lodestone. And with each dream, that longing rose and fell like a tide that washed over and away all else in his heart and mind. Perhaps it was this which led Lukas to never feel romantic attraction towards anyone and refuse every offer of betrothal. Perhaps too it was this which enabled his unwavering focus on mastering martial arts and survival tactics.
Then came a time when the elders deemed him ready; for nine days and nights without rest or respite, they tested him in all which he’d learned. When all was done, Lukas received a tattoo across the crown of his head to mark his ascension to adulthood – and selection as champion of Emain Maka. His foster parents presented him a war-bow of hollow steel, and from Ferdiand a heavy spear of the same make. His foster brother also gave his goodbye; he would leave that week to travel the world and sell his skills as a warrior and hunter. And a parting thought – perhaps Lukas might join him once the elders selected his replacement? As they embraced one last time, Lukas was somewhat bewildered; when they first met on the hurling field, Ferdiand stood head and shoulders above him – his unbeaten brother of endless achievements whom he’d always chased and compared himself. Now, Lukas left alone at the top and standing head and shoulders above his friend and mentor.
A few years passed. Lukas continued training his skills, spending most of his days away from home, as champion of Emain Maka – whether alone or in leading teams on hunts and patrols to defend their domain. It was on one such patrol and riding alone he encountered a curious pair of ravens roosted in a cave, one crooning over the other, which bore an arrow in its wing. Too, each carried a large gem tied to its belly – gems carved with symbols Lukas knew not the meaning. But they seemed magical, both the birds and their burdens.
With soft words and a softer touch, Lukas put the two ravens – twins perhaps, by their likeness – removed the arrow, cleansed the wound and healed it with a topical potion. As he spoke to them, he noticed they appeared to understand his words and see well in darkness, which prompted a memory – they must be familiars. But no spellcaster lived in Emain Maka; the elders forbid such practice due to the worst monsters lurking in the depths of their little underworld which hunted by sensing magical energy.
Then he asked the ravens: Who do they seek? Of course, they only cawed in response, but their tone, their motion, as if beseeching he escort them to their destination. So, he did. Followed them through the caves and across the coast to Emain Maka, though they moved on from there to a mountaintop a mile inland where a lonely hovel was carved into the stone. With a raven now perched on each shoulder, Lukas knocked on the door. And when it opened, old Din welcomed him inside.
Lukas described what occurred and his suspicions, then asked if Din knew what was happening, and why. But Din only said, “Patience,” as the old elf appeared to channel magical energy into the two gems the ravens carried. From one sprang a lifelike image of a fortress or city, and the other an image he knew all too well – the young woman he’d seen in dreams since his first memories. And from her words he learned more of the wider world than ever before; of Solfatara and the Dark Elves, their leader and the Atlantis, his mentor’s real identity, a rebellion, Ys, Skaha, and of her – Leiya Sifreiya. He’d never felt so fierce a desire as he did then to find and rescue her, the same as his dreams, but only if comparing a puddle to the ocean.
In the ensuing discussion, Din revealed himself as Ar-Thorodin Tyrion, once an Admiral of Thapsus and likely the last surviving Runemaster of the Seidr Order. Lukas learned that Din had been his father’s mentor and friend over many decades before the war with Malekith, a fellow Runemaster who betrayed and murdered his father to start his war. He learned was Aenarion Windrunner, one of the greatest heroes and warriors in recent elven history; but whomever his human mother was, Aenarion never shared that with his old friend before death.
As Lukas contemplated that, Din handed him his father’s weapon; a spear Aenarion crafted of steel, copper, silver and gold to the channel magical energy from the precious runestones set in the haft to cast primordial spells – the symbol of a Runemaster. Din related to Lukas the basic history and function of the Seidr Order and the Primordial Runes. And while Lukas had them not, he still could learn to channel magical energy, infusing the body and items to boost their attributes and capabilities.
It was then they saw smoke outside the window, thick plumes of blackness rising from the direction of Emain Maka. Under his mentor’s instructions, Lukas helped him prepare for swift departure alongside Din’s servants, all of whom were apparently once his subordinates during the Elf-War, having followed their old superior into hiding. They then rode to Emain Maka but appearing to arrive too late.
The city was destroyed. Its dwellings aflame, inhabitants’ belongings stolen and their bodies lying everywhere – men, women and children. And by Din’s farseeing spell, he saw the bodies of his foster parents. He knew whose work it was; the desecrated bodies, the sleek warships in the harbor and scores of armored men searching what remained of Emain Maka.
Dark Elves. Their purpose was clear, and Din’s own as he led them down a hidden trail to the shore; the runestones. With little trouble, they succeeded in boarding undetected an outlying scout ship, killing its unwary crew and donning their armor. Calls of alarm sounded as they set sail, but by then no other ship could catch up as they set course for Ys.
Several weeks passed; and every waking hour not attending sail he trained under Din to awaken his magical energy, channel it within his body and learn to wield his father’s weapon, as well as study the technical schematics of the Atlantis. It was a challenge he relished; a tool to help him avenge his loved ones and save the woman of his dreams. And as those weeks passed sailing to Ys, that sensation of longing only intensified, as if pulling him there – as if she was there.
But as they approached Ys along the mountainous coast, they encountered a wall of steamy mist and dark smoke. Something unnatural, Din told Lukas; no volcanoes burned here, and the season was wrong for such mist. Then, overhead, they heard the roar of manticore. This Lukas knew; the mount of a Solfataran lord. And beyond, seemingly saw shape of a mountain in the steam where Din warned him none should be. As they neared, that shape resolved itself into a floating fortress of vast enormity, all tall walls and towers, dark stone and steel lit by wisps of violet fire – the Atlantis. And across from it where Ys should lie, only a crater which steamed and smoked – and which a mountain may fit inside.
At Din’s word, he suppressed his anger and grief – but could not that sensation which now burned and throbbed in his mind and body as he looked upon the home of his enemy. She was there. He knew it.
Together, they concocted a new plan; they would infiltrate the fortress and split into three teams: one to stand ready with the ship, another to attempt destroying the Atlantis from the inside, and the last to try rescuing the princess. Lukas volunteered for the last task, led by a veteran named Hans. Din, commanding the second team, set their departure time at sunset; a few hours to complete their missions and their best chance of losing any pursuers if detected.
Their initial infiltration went flawlessly, deceiving their way into a sea-facing harbor of the fortress. The two away teams went, playing the role of soldiers finally allowed some shore-leave after a long patrol at sea. His team then ambled their way down towards the dungeons. As Lukas descended deeper and deeper, that feeling from before swelled like a tide. And a feeling of overwhelming sorrow. Hopelessness. It only drove him harder as his team steadily approached the dungeon.
Before nearing, two of their number doffed their armor and were shackled – if left unlocked – to disguise their team as prisoner guards completing a transfer. But as Hans spoke with the dungeon’s chief sergeant, the Solfataran told them he had no order to receive any transfers. Hans bluffed about having verbal orders; the chief refused to comply unless they had written orders and his superior confirmed the transfer with a runner. Hans then signaled ‘go;’ and go they did, attacking the guards and blocking the entry to prevent runners. Cries of alarm went no further than the closed door and soon all the Solfatarans lay dead on the floor. So too did half of Lukas’ team. And as he was the tallest and strongest of their remaining men, Hans handed Lukas the relevant keys and commanded he retrieve the princess while they prepared to escape.
He ran to her cell down the corridor, that feeling surging in his chest. And as he turned the key in that cell lock, his heart sunk and soared at once: there she hanged from black chains, looking so small and broken, so bloodied and bruised and bearing the burden of overwhelming loss. But alive – and awake. His eyes met hers as he doffed the Dark Elven helm set aside his father’s spear. With one arm he reached to her, lifting her up and cradling her to his chest as his unlocked the shackles with the other hand while saying, “You’re safe now, Your Highness. You’re going to be alright.” As he fed her healing potions, he introduced himself as Lukas, an apprentice of Ar-Thorodin, who himself was attempting to destroy the Atlantis before their planned time of escape. But as he set about cleansing and binding her woulds there came again calls of alarm; they needed to leave – now.
However, Leiya was weak from torture, malnutrition and the enchanted cell; indeed, barely conscious and unable to walk well at all. So, Lukas cradled her in an arm, spear held in the other as his team ascended towards freedom from the depths.
They arrived at their harbor without significant incident – several running skirmishes, losing pursuers and re-routes to evade further discovery as alarms sounded everywhere – on to find every vessel there under heavy guard. His team started to plan on how to board undetected, but then flashes of bright light and claps of thunder sounded nearby, across the harbor.
There old Ar-Thorodin stood alone, dueling Malekith himself, but steadily giving ground. Soldiers moved to support their commander and surround his mentor, yet certainly what old Din intended – a distraction. Lukas’ team then made to board their vessel, succeeding undetected. They prepared for departure; swiftly unfurling sails, cutting lines, sweeping out oars and taking in the anchor. But the Dark Elves saw these obvious movements, crying alarm as the nearest score of guards charged to engage them. Lukas carried his below deck, leaving her to the care of their team’s cleric. And as they sailed beyond the harbor’s walls, he saw it happen; Ar-Thorodin slain by Malekith’s hand, his body burnt to ash by wisp-fire.
Spells, spears and arrows flew too late to intercept, impacting uselessly on their ship’s wards as they raced away on full sails and sweeping oars. But not long passed before he heard the roars of manticores. Dark Elves atop them rained spells and arrows, steadily pounding away at the wards while Lukas and another man crewed the two multi-ballistae afore and abaft and returned fire. In the open sea, their pursuers had no cover nor rest; in little time, they tired and slowed and were shot down amidst cheers.
He headed below deck after that, walking to the medical cabin. He knelt beside the woman of his dreams as she lay on a bed and laid his hands atop hers. His vision clouded as he related to her all that had happened, and how his mentor – and hers – paid for their freedom with his life.
As if a dam broke, tears fell from her eyes. She curled towards him, her hands clenching at the fabric of his tunic. For however many hours, he held her there until she fell asleep.
Days passed at sea as they sailed south, apparently to a rebel base in Nathmor. Lukas helped attend Leiya as she recovered her strength, listening in too as survivors of Din’s servants briefed her on the state of the rebellion and the aftermath of Ys’ destruction. Too, he observed as she recovered her spirit; old Din had left her one of his raven familiars, and the other to him. Lukas soon busied himself with training himself more along the lines his mentor had laid out.
Upon landing, days rushed by. A welcome to safety. Debriefing. Introductions to the rebellion. Preparing and practicing for the coming assault on the Atlantis which rapidly approached. Helping brief the thirty assault team members, among whom he surprisingly found himself soon after, for Ferdiand commanded the assault team and ordered Lukas replace a man who died in Ys. As he prepared to depart for the assault, Leiya approached him, thanking for what he did, then giving him one of her runestone earrings. And making him promise to return to her – a promise he readily made.
Beside his foster brother and fellow rebels, Lukas flew towards the Atlantis atop great eagles. The battle began as they neared the walls as spells and arrows rose to greet them. Soon, Dark Elf nobles sortied on manticores and the sky echoed with their roars and screams as the two forces met. Beside Ferdiand, Lukas dueled several and slew their opponents – just like the old days. Other riders dove on the slim central exhaust tower of the Atlantis, trying to drop their pair of explosive runestones crafted by Ar-Thorodin into the channel which connected directly to the power core where Malekith’s wisp resided and consumed sacrificed creatures for their magical energy – and powered the ritual apparatus that destroyed Ys, and would destroy the Nathmor base and any hope of success for the rebellion if not stopped there and then.
Then Lukas saw Malekith himself took to the sky, engaging the diving riders alongside his royal escort in duels as his honor demanded. Many died, and one nearly succeeded. But Malekith slew him as soon as he pulled up from his dive. Soon came his turn to dive, Ferdiand and another man beside him. Malekith and his escorts swiftly pursued them. Lukas’ wing-mates maneuvered around him; warding away spells and arrows, guarding him with their lives to give him time as old Din’s raven guided his aim. The other man soon fell away, badly wounded by Malekith. Then Ferdiand alone defended Lukas. And he too fell to Malekith, turned to ash by his wisp-fire. But his sacrifice allowed Lukas to succeed.
The Atlantis exploded. A fiery sphere of magical energy bloomed and shone like a second sun as a cloud of smoke and steam ringed and surmounted it. His mount somehow rode free on the blast wave, both alive, but singed, bloodied and beyond exhausted. Hours later, he and the other two survivors finally returned to base, where a cheering crowd awaited. And at its forefront, her. Soon as his mount landed, Lukas slipped from the saddle into waiting arms and unconsciousness.
After he and the other survivors healed, a celebration was held, and an awards ceremony. Two leaders of the rebellion coronated the woman of his dreams as Skaha Leiya Sifreiya of Ys, the Queen of Tranquility. She then officiated the awards ceremony, bestowing upon him and his two fellows the epithet and title of Berserker – apparently ’champion’ or ’companion’ in the speech of Primordial Runes. But to him alone she offered another honor; as he knelt before her in front of thousands, she asked he be her champion, her companion, forever and always thereafter. Per the traditions of a Queen of Ys requesting this of an unmarried man, her action equaled proposing marriage. And by the ancient rites of the Seidr Order, it was a Runemaster contracting a person as their Servant.
He accepted without hesitation and she sealed their contract with a kiss.
Lukas then accompanied her everywhere as she formally became one of three leaders of the rebellion; standing beside her and advising her in meetings on strategy, logistics, intelligence and personnel management. In her free time, Leiya trained with him; her to him in magic and rulership, and him to her in martial arts and survival tactics. And developing their relationship; a budding Runemaster and her familiar learning to sense one another, share senses and move in concert.
Some weeks passed before rebel scouts learned Malekith survived. Moreover, a Solfataran invasion fleet would arrive within a week. Evacuation commenced immediately as the rebellion divided into cells.
Two years passed. Missions to weaken Solfatara and Malekith. Further training as a Runemaster’s Servant per Ar-Thorodin’s writings and leftover tools. His reputation soon preceded him as he put those lessons into practice as the Queen of Runes’ ever-present champion and companion. Leiya came to play the role of a diplomat for the rebellion, developing relations and securing resources. While rarely in the field herself anymore, she routinely sent Lukas and his chosen strike teams on special missions: reconnaissance, surveillance, intelligence collection, infiltration, sabotage, espionage, item retrieval, assassination and hostage rescue. They earned themselves their own names: her Hellhound and the Wild Hunt. And whenever not together, they communicated using their raven familiars.
Eventually, Lukas accompanied Leiya to the main rebel base, located on the icy west coast of the Northern Reaches in an ancient subterranean fortress repurposed and repopulated by rebels. Perhaps appropriately named Hel since time immemorial. Some months passed there, Leiya focusing on her strategic leadership role while Lukas handled field operations. It was – normal. Almost peaceful for him, and very fulfilling.
Until one patrol went very wrong. His team encountered a Solfataran scout troop less than a day’s ride from Hel. They were all mounted too on monstrous wargs and outnumbered him greatly – perhaps three to one. Worse, their apparent heading set them to find it unless he eliminated them first. There was little choice. He encircled and ambushed them. In the ensuing battle, the obviously competent enemy split in two; one group dying to delay Lukas’ pursuit while the other broke through his encirclement. They succeeded. Though Lukas slew the rearguard, he lost all his men, his mount and his left hand. And by then it was too late to pursue those that escaped. So Lukas treated his wounds the best he could and marched back to Hel with all the haste of a very motivated but half-dead man.
Before falling unconscious at the walls, he warned the soldiers on duty that the Dark Elves had discovered their base; evacuation would commence immediately, but to safely move all their assets they needed to delay the enemy. He awoke healed, Leiya beside. She then ordered him to command the defenses and hold until ordered to retreat, when his remaining Wild Riders would move to escort the evacuee convoys and otherwise delay pursuers. A Solfataran invasion fleet arrived on the coast only hours later and started an amphibious assault; it was, perhaps, too late. Hel turned into a literal hell as two armies met and stained the snow red with blood.
Over the icy plain beside the sea, Lukas rode a great eagle once more, his Wild Riders beside him. To their fortune, manticores couldn’t fly well or survive long in such cold, so he freely engaged enemy ground forces as a general melee began below: enormous armored war mammoths bearing siege engines and Solfataran soldiers, escorted by more men atop wargs as well as mobs of trolls, ogres, goblins and devils. His defenders died where they stood; drowned under a tidal wave of monsters for refusing to give ground. When the order came to retreat, few would answer. Lukas himself fell from the sky, his mount slain by a ballista bolt. He had to escape on foot, badly wounded and separated from the convoys, and from his Queen after what could only be called a disastrous defeat.
He went to the rally point, only to find she wasn’t there. Nor was anyone who knew her whereabouts, which worried him. So he set out with his surviving Wild Riders, determined to return to her side.
For days he chased news of her. Only weeks later after infiltrating a Dark Elf camp did Lukas discover her whereabouts: held captive by Malekith at Escalus. Lukas knew it to be a trap set to catch him. Lukas knew Malekith knew he knew that. And Lukas knew Malekith knew what he’d do, and what Malekith would do in turn. He accepted what would be. He made a promise to her and he was a man of his word – even to the death. For his death it would surely come by facing Malekith.
With his Wild Riders beside him, they traveled to Escalus. Over several days they scouted the treetop city, soon discovering where Leiya was held prisoner. They planned their missions; one team would extract the hostage while nine others planted explosive runestones as distractions and engaged the guards as needed to secure the former’s escape route. Lukas himself would delay Malekith.
So it began a midnight after their arrival. Amidst ensuing chaos as buildings and branches burned hundreds of feet above the ground, Lukas challenged Malekith to a duel as planned. The Dark Elf King accepted. From the onset, Lukas saw how vastly outmatched he was; despite his foe obviously not fighting seriously, he suffered eight wounds within moments and had to turn the duel into a running battle. All the while, Malekith spoke to Lukas, praising his skill but refuting that resistance was futile; there was no escape and how he wished not to destroy Lukas like he did his old mentor. Yet Lukas remained silent, his only concern the mission. But even with hit-and-run tactics and all his dirty survival tricks, every attack failed. Soon he had no more room to run, cornered on a balcony atop the tallest tower of Escalus, facing Malekith alone for the hope his beloved would live on.
There and then Malekith somehow broke his father’s spear only an uttered word such that it burst in Lukas’ remaining hand, magical energy searing his flesh and wounds. And with that blow, Malekith took too Lukas’ left eye and laid his body low. His back to the platform’s rim, Lukas knelt, too wounded and weary to rise again as he faced his doom. There and then Malekith offered him an opportunity: to secure his Queen’s safety by swearing fealty to Malekith and becoming his apprentice and ascend to rule beside Malekith and restore order to his empire. Lukas refused. Malekith then asked Lukas if Ar-Thorodin ever told him what happened to his father. Lukas replied that Malekith killed his father. Then Malekith spoke: “No, I am your father.”
It broke him, for Lukas knew it to be true as he searched his feelings. How well it fit with what old Din told him. His own research on the Seidr Order, his father and Malekith himself. And how Malekith somehow broke the spear – the way only its creator could by reciting the Primordial Rune with which it was first created as a runestone.
But it was too much. And Lukas couldn’t fall to darkness – he’d not follow in his father’s footsteps and betray all he held dear. He’d die first before becoming a slave to evil. And he’d succeeded in his mission anyways – she was safe now. He felt her, moving farther and farther.
So with little left to lost, he fell back and off the balcony. Through boughs and leaves, fire and smoke, and clouds of pain he plummeted like a dying star, its tail red with his blood.
Eventually his fall ceased, his broken body arrested by the branch which now impaled his side – and from which he hanged above empty air and the plains hundreds of feet below as if crucified in the twilit sky. He drifted into unconsciousness, or so he believed. Visions like half-remembered dreams or memories swam in his failing mind as he hanged there for a moment beyond thought and time. And in a last he found himself standing at a threshold which seemed so very real. Stranger still, before him stood his old mentor, as if reimagined. They spoke; Din answering his questions and confirming as true what Malekith told him. Too, asking Lukas forgive his deception. He did. After that, Din offered Lukas a choice; cross over with him to the other side or return to the world – and her.
Lukas made his choice without hesitation. He had a promise to keep.
On that ninth day since Escalus, he woke. And as Leiya once transformed in the depths of the Atlantis, so did Lukas from Escalus’ deadly embrace. No more could he wield conventional spells, for carved into his mind were the Primordial Runes.
It was then Leiya confessed it all to Lukas, her secret dreams of him for since first memory, their shared heritage and her concerns about them and that truth as twinborn half-elves and married lovers. He listened, accepted it all and confessed his own; he dreamt of her too since first memory, and that he was the son of Malekith, who was once Aenarion Windrunner – what the Dark Elf revealed to him in their duel atop Escalus, and Ar-Thorodin confirmed when Lukas spoke to him at the threshold of Other Side.
In the end, after hours of tears, discussions and resting, they decided none of their concerns truly mattered – others’ opinions, the truth of their relationship or their father’s identity. It their fate, their choice and their happiness. What else mattered more?
They spent several months there; Lukas hunting and foraging while Leiya crafted runestones from the items left in the villa while scrying abroad for opportunities to start anew. Eventually, Leiya succeeded in crafting for her husband a prosthetic eye and left hand of interconnected runestones. Together again, they continued their training; Lukas now as her apprenticed Runemaster, and her once more as his student in martial arts and survival tactics. Soon came a time where they depleted the resources in their little place of solace and were forced to leave.
A month past, Leiya registered them with the Paean Legion as the team ‘Wrath and Wraith.’ In the days since, they completed twenty quests of precarious circumstances and no small peril to build up their reputation as acutely competent and committed professionals, while also acquiring new equipment and supplies – especially precious stones and metals as materials for crafting runestones. Too, testing the limits of their Heroic Boons provided by the Singing Stone. And simply living life together, seemingly free from the wounds and worries of their past.
Until yesterday, when ‘Wrath and Wraith’ were requested to assist in certain caravan escort mission . . .
Heroic Boon: Riastrad, as Lukas scribes it in Primordial Runes. An active, transformative battle-rage entered by reciting a primordial oath and fed by magical energy that contacts him; the more absorbed, the further it enhances Lukas’ abilities: strength in body and resolve; agility in reaction and mobility; endurance in bodily resistance and regeneration; magical prowess in capacity and channeling; and natural and supernatural senses. The combination of energy absorption and enhanced resistances renders him immune to magical effects, ranging from fireballs to feeble-mind.
When transforming, Lukas’ skin warms to a feverish heat and reddens as if burning; blood vessels stand out and throb visibly; heart rate increases dramatically and breath steams; while flesh and bones expand, flex, fold and harden anew. An odd side effect is the alterations to his vocal cords and related tissues, enabling Lukas to howl and roar like some great beast or warg. His mass and statistics increase by factors equal to quantity of magical energy absorbed. Due to his tissues repeatedly condensing, his stature remains the nearly the same.
Lukas can selectively absorb any magical energy contacting him. This enables items or spells to affect him still, including attuned runestones or potions, but he needs to focus to do so. If not in contact with other sources, he must consume his own magical energy or end the riastrad by reciting another oath. Currently, he cannot hold riastrad for more than around five hundred heartbeats in combat. Much further and he risks devolving into an uncontrolled, predatory blood-lust. He remains wary that condition coupled with consuming personal magical energy may lead to death.
Additionally, his mental-emotional state appears to affect the effects, duration and control of his riastrad. While a calm, cool head better prevents devolution and can extend his riastrad duration to its current maximum, anger magnifies his riastrad. Genuine, original rage as a reaction to outer stimulus appears most effective in terms of performance enhancement, though attempts to accurately measure its effectiveness have failed thus far.
Abilities:
- Link: The spiritual bond Lukas and Leiya share as half-elves. They believe themselves to be one soul within two bodies instead of two souls bonded between twin bodies, perhaps evidenced by their shared reserve of magical energy greater than the sum of the previous parts. Further, they can selectively share their senses, as well as sense the relative direction and distance of the other. They can communicate telepathically alike speaking aloud. Memories, emotions, sensations and imagined scenes can be shared voluntarily and involuntarily; this can result in shared dreams. They may share a united life-force; if one died, they could be resurrected should the other still live. With more training and time, they may be able to share individual abilities – as history recounts with most twinborn half-elves.
- Primordial Runes: Can create simple runic seals; limited to one rune per runestone, thus one manifested effect – an attributes stored for later tapping. Cannot create or expand complex runic seals without explosively destabilizing them but can fully use them if properly attuned. Specialty lies in storing and tapping attributes and magical energy in and from runestones to infuse his body and weapons.
- Military Arts: A master of the traditional wood elven weapons and martial arts: war-bows and arrows, spears, swords and shields, and their emphasis on employing the entire body as a weapon. Performs best against sequential single opponents of equal or superior ability. Expert combatant with extensive experience alone, alongside small parties or within armies battling both common and rare beasts and monsters, as well as most humanoid races, including conventional warriors and spellcasters.
- Survivalist Skills: A lifelong frontiersman raised by wood elves who later traveled much of the known world as a warrior and scout. Can survive and move adeptly in any terrain or clime. Able to identify most common and many rarer flora and fauna, and recall in-depth information on each – attributes, habitats, behaviors, etcetera. Alone, can do so while remaining undetected at his normal foot pace of thirty miles a day. If with a small party, perhaps half to two-thirds. The same if mounted, or better if on oft-traveled pathways. Master hunter, tracker and trapper; notably prefers ambush attacks, but is proficient in endurance hunts and other styles too. Expert in field dressing and food preparation, as well as extracting substances or parts from plants and animals for crafting potions, poisons, poultices, oils, etcetera. Among other relevant skills.
Limitations:
- [As already detailed per descriptions of abilities and Heroic Boon.]
- [Material and metaphysical cost of crafting runestones.]
- [Magical energy cost of his Heroic Boon.]
- [Reliance on Leiya for runestones.]
- [Tends to stand out. Literally.]
Equipment:
- Runestones: All his weapons follow the model of Leiya’s Gaibuiderg, if scaled to him. Each is heavily invested with five attributes: strength, agility, endurance, magical prowess and energy itself. His primary runestones are his prosthetic left eye, left hand and the earring in his left ear. The runestones he wields as weapons: Kodandam, a war-bow; Pridubanwen, a round-shield; Gungnirongomient, a long-spear; Gaebolonginus, a short-spear; Balmungram, a great-sword; Aeskaladbolg, a longsword; Kaliburn, a bastard sword; Klarent, an arming sword; Karnwenan, a dirk; and twenty runestone arrows. The same leather as what he wears makes the grips, sheaths, quivers and straps for all those items. The bow string is of the silk-like cloth.
- Miscellaneous: A hollow-steel-framed rucksack of that cloth that is scaled to him and sewn with rows of loops the same cloth. A matching rucksack scaled to Leiya. Two vests of the same style scaled to each of them. Forty pouches of various sizes with buttoned straps that can interweave with the loops of the rucksacks and vests. A tent with a bottom and frame of collapsible hollow steel poles. A bedroll, blanket, cover and small feather pillow. A hundred or so mundane arrows with broadheads or bodkin tips. A long skinning knife and its sheath. A short utility knife and its sheath. A long prybar. A short prybar. An axe. An awl. A large chisel and its sheath. A small chisel and its sheath. A ball hammer. A pry hammer. A hundred or so iron nails in a pouch. Thirty or so steel stakes in three pouches. Twenty steel loops with spring-loaded gates in two pouches. Twenty steel asymmetric closed double-loops in two pouches. Two ice axes and their sheathes. Two climbing harnesses. Four grapnels and four fifty-foot coils of rope. Four pouches of flour. Four bags of ball bearings. A week of trail food for two in weatherproof packaging. A small cast iron pot. A small cast iron pan. A steel ladle. A steel tines. Two small steel plates. Two small steel bowls. Two small steel cups. Two steel spoons. Four small waterskins. Two large water bladders made from cave bear stomachs. A small kit of magical reagents. A small kit of food spices. Ten belts with an attached iron bar and inner cloth layer. Four small kits each holding multiple squares and rolls of sterile cotton of varying sizes as well as phials containing healing potions for oral or topical use. Ten thumb-sized nondescript steel flasks holding a strangely lustrous solution. A couple gold coins, several silver and a score of copper. Among other things.
Optional
Likes: Mead. Mountains and caves. Sunny days, spring mornings and summer storms. Waterfalls, waves and river rapids. Swimming, diving and fishing. Farming and foraging. Forests. Running, leaping and climbing. Hounds, herding and hunting. Horses and riding. Ravens. Romance. Irrational promises. Her. Teasing people, especially friends, family and opponents. Making mischief. Cleverness. Creativity. Cooking and cleaning. Playfulness and positivity. Playing his lute. Teaching children about common sense. Championing virtuous people and hopeless and causes. His honor. Her honor. Dancing. Dueling a worthy opponent. Being underestimated. Gaining glory. Victory. Fairness. Following sensible rules. Finishing one’s work. Testing the limits of his abilities. Duty. Freedom. And poetry.
Dislikes: Whiskey. Luck. Gambling. Goblins. Ogres. Trolls. Vampires. Devious and malicious methods. People who betray their word or comrades. Losing freedom of choice. Regrets. Racism. Rape. Slavery. And Dark Elves.
Greatest Fears: To die with regrets. To fail her again.
Life Goals: To avenge his mentor. To find his limit. And to be with her, forever and always.
