The death of Kakos Kruphai: The Salt Assault, Donated by Altair
wrote:As you touch the stone to your forehead, you are blown over by the sensation of stinging salt. You are in a veritable desert of it, grains whipping past your face (that for some reason feels peculiarly squished around the mouth and nose), and stinging any small wound on your body. The number of bodies gathered nearby is strictly staggering. Almost every faction is represented; Harmonium, Mercy Killers, Free League, Doomguard, Sensates... It seems almost impossible for so many people from so many different factions to be here and not be arguing childishly. And yet...
A Justicar speaks commandingly into a sending stone, the impending sound of war drums atop a distant hill of salt threatening to drown him out. Nervous joking and awkward shifting seems to be the order of the day. Your tail twitches with its own nervous energy, and you quietly remind yourself why you're here. Why you can't lose. Then, for a brief moment, the drums stop.
Chaos. The Xaoisects would be proud. Robed cultists and shadowy figures charge recklessly at you and your camp from the hill. Like a silent night wind, you disappear into the shadows.
The stone seems to lose quality here. The battle rages, but it is like a red fog seems to cover the sensation. Brief clips of diving out of hiding, bashing out a cultist's skull, clawing at important muscles, vanishing back into shadows. There seems to be a few waves of the cultists, but it is difficult to tell where one begins and the previous ends. Towards what seems to be the end of this particular part, you tear off the annoying helmet that has been trying to flatten out your muzzle, and just disregard tactics entirely, biting at any cultist in range.
As the sensation returns to focus, you can hear the Justicar and a few others discussing dragons, and having been scammed. As you turn your head you see the dragons lifting off, and a wave of panic hits you. Dropping to all fours, you bolt for the rising dragon, leaping with all your might to catch a hold on the mighty scales.
A hand reaches to help pull you up, as you cling to the dragon. Don't look down, you remind yourself, shutting your eyes. Atop the dragons, there is a dread feeling of silence, ominous things to come. Then, a brilliant explosion, and a shout. The dragons pull into a dive, breathing fire and lightning on the camp of the unsuspecting cultists.
Frantically, you dismount with the dragon riders. As the cultists fall to your teeth and mace, there is another shout. On the hill, a shadowy figure takes shape, standing taller even than the dragons. Without question, you know his name. Kakos Kruphai.
Again, the stone loses quality here, and things become blurry. Blue, flaming swords come out of sheaths. Battle cries fill the air. You get the feeling that without one of those blades, it might be impossible to harm Kruphai. But anger courses through your blood. You aren't going to let something small like impossibility stop you now. Drawing all your breath into your lungs, you let out a great howl, and dive on the being.
Here, the visuals of the stone give out entirely. Perhaps even the recorder has no memory here. You float in a black void of hatred, and anger. Even though you are blind, you can tell you are still fighting, still alive. Salt cakes to your fur, and blood stains your teeth. At some point, you get the impression that your body has changed, that no longer are you standing on two legs, but now four. Salt stings every open wound, you can feel it in your eyes, and caking your nose.
Over and over, you bodily hurl yourself at the smell of your mortal foe. Life, death, they have lost all meaning. One of you will die here. The salt plane's innate dessication has begun to take a toll, as well. Your tongue hangs out of your mouth, thirstily. Salt weighs down every part of you. Leap after leap, you claw at it viciously. Then, with a mighty leap, you latch on to what seems to be a shoulder or neck. Flesh resists your teeth, but you feel them puncture, and blood fills your mouth. The being sways, and you feel yourself hurled to the ground.
As you scramble to gain foothold, a shockwave like you've never felt before lifts you bodily into the air, throwing you spinning. Easily you fly fifteen to twenty feet, ploughing into a nearby salt drift. Slowly, the images begin to return to the sensation stone. First, as a mass of light blurred color, then vague figures. You leap to your feet, snarling. Where is he?
Someone is talking. There are figures gathered around a stick. The sense of mortal danger has passed, fur on your neck slowly lowering as vision becomes clearer. Still, your heart beats violently, threatening to jump out of your breast. Joining the figures, it seems to be agreed that the dragons should destroy the staff of Kruphai.
They clear away, and a violent mixture of lightning and fire rains down on the staff. An explosion lifts salt dunes into the air, burning shards of magical shrapnel flying off in every direction. The staff destroyed, the lot of you set about scouring the camp for survivors.
Though the cultists seem to be no more, a charred body is found among the wreckage of the explosion ravaged camp. One of your companions runs over, a look of horror etched into his face. Gathering them up onto a shield, you and your companions turn with heavy hearts to return home, the multiverse safe for now.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBialGirUI8