Curse

Zelyoniy · Apr 20, 2008, 03:03 PM // 15:03

The Torch
The young boy named Jericho McFall sat patiently huddled against an Ascalonian oak. The boy quietly cleared his throat, making a painstaking effort to keep it as silent as possible. He adjusted his traditional Nor Askhalon Kossak hat, fashioned from the fur of Charr warlord. A cold and bitter wind blew by which made young Jericho’s innards shiver and rattle. He squeezed his recurve bow tightly for warmth.
Suddenly, he heard the telltale footsteps of an Ascalonian white tail. Excited, the young Mcfall put a shaky hand on the oak, listening to its vibes. The white tail was a 12 point. Jericho’s heart skipped a beat.
The young Ascalonian Outwaller slowly stood up, aimed his bow, and got in firing position. He waited patiently. Then, the hearty white tail walked into view, smelling the air around him then biting into the green earth for a meal. Jericho’s adrenaline coursed through his veins and brought all of his primal senses to life. He loaded an arrow, pulled on the quiver with a violently shaking hand, and steadied his breathing to make the perfect shot.
In an instant, he let go of the quiver, he heard a hopeful woosh, and watched the white tail. He heard the satisfying thip of arrow penetrating flesh. The monster white tail jumped three feet in the air and took off in a terminal sprint.
Young Jericho dropped down against the tree, his deep breaths were those of joyful relief. That was the best hunt the boy ever had in his life. He took off his Kossak hat and put it in a large pocket. He brought a hand through his long, sweaty hair. He took a deep breath and stood up. It was time to bring his trophy home.

The boy approached the small hamlet slightly northeast of the Ascalon Foothills. Home. Family. Dinner. Jericho dragged the slain white tail in a sack through the main street, and only street, of the small village. Onlookers, family and friends, laughed, jumped, and shouted cheerful praises to Jericho. The boy smiled. He carried his kill to a large wooden house. The boy’s father stepped out with a powerful air of authority, yet welcoming and warm. The grown man looked down at his son and smiled. He hefted the baggage and carried it to the back of the cabin. He gestured his toward his offspring to follow.

As they cleaned and skinned the deer, Jericho’s father spoke. “Jericho, I’m very proud o’ ya. Once again, you’ve brought honor to our family’s name.” “Thank you father.” the boy replied. “I enjoy doing so.” “Son, do you know why the others in our village look to our family for help and guidance?” “Yes father. We have been the defenders and sentinels of the village for hundreds of years. The strongest male in each generation is dubbed the Zelyoniy Ranger, blessed with the responsibility of protecting the people of this village, Ascalon, and Tyria itself.” “Yes Son. For years I’ve defended this village and my country against bandits, Krytans, Orrians, Royalists, wild beast, and Charr. Jericho. You’re becoming a man. I think it’s time the title passes down to you.” Jericho McFall looked at his father, who was staring deeply into his eyes. This was the greatest and most exhilarating thing the boy had ever heard in his life. He was going to be the Zelyoniy Ranger!

Zelyoniy · Apr 20, 2008, 03:04 PM // 15:04

Trial
Fall ended and winter came and passed, giving young Jericho time to practice and prepare himself for the trials that awaited him. With the new year came the warm tide of spring. Green spawned from the dead of winter and birds and beasts crept out of their dens and nests, yearning to scour the land for food and a mate. As the animals came out, Jericho too emerged from his stuffy family home, ready to do what he was born for.

Jericho McFall adjusted the strap on his pack, so that it would stop digging into his collar bone. He walked alongside his father, away from the village, away from the Foothills, away from Ascalon, into the borders of the Shiverpeaks. Jericho’s father, the Zelyoniy Ranger, spoke. “It’s always cold in these parts, son. Put on that fur hat Momma made for ya.” “Yes sir.” Jericho pushed his long hair aside and put on his Askehlon fur cap. It warmed his ears and made him look like a traditional Askehlony Hill Soldier, which whom he looked up to so dearly.
As they progressed further into the Siverpeaks, Jericho noticed the geography changing, the green grass turning to a slushy, white snow, which he grew tired of seeing for the past 3 months. The trees were further apart and not quite as vibrant.
Finally, they reached their destination: A small log cabin in a thicket clearing. An old man in a simple, brown coat sat in a hand-carved wooden chair, skinning a rabbit with a sharp blade crafted from Charr bone. The man glanced up and set down the half-skinned rabbit and blade as a wide smile stretched across his face.
“My sons!” He exclaimed. “What brings you to this humble shack?” Jericho’s father wrapped his arms around the old man and embraced him. “It’s a blessing to see you again, father.” Jericho’s father smiled. “We’re here for the same reason you brought me to your papa.” The old man’s eyes turned to Jericho. “Ah, I can see it in your eyes. You look eager. It’s been years since I’ve last seen you. How old are you, grandson?” Jericho responded. “I’m 13, sir.” The old man nodded. “Hmm, your father was 15 when he started. But enough chatter, come inside and get something warm to drink.

The three men of the McFall clan sat around a small table, eating a meal of roasted hare and hot tea. Jericho’s father, Jacob, told stories of recent exploits, including a time he and a vanguard detachment eradicated a covert Krytan invasion force. Another story was of an argument he had with a Charr Shaman shortly before he ended its life.
Jericho described his latest hunting trip. He told his elders about the distance and angle he was at from the stag when he shot it. He and his father discussed life in the hamlet, the weather, and women. The whole time Jericho’s grandfather, Jabez, listened quietly and spoke seldom, taking in the presence of his offspring.
After the three McFalls finished their meals, Jabez spoke to the others. “Jericho, you came here to start the family trials to truly become the Zelyoniy Ranger. As in tradition, you will train under me, your grandfather, while your papa continues to protect Ascalon.” Jericho’s father rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You were born for this, boy. I know you will do wonderful. Take my place and give your foes a taste of the Foothills.” Jericho looked into his father’s eyes and said, “Yes sir, I won’t let ya down.”
Jacob gave one last hug to his son, put on his coat, grabbed his bow, and took off for the hamlet under moonlight. Jericho laid in bed and meditated on the task at hand tomorrow. He turned restlessly in bed for a few hours, then drifted into sleep.

Jericho opened his eyes to sunlight and heard song birds whistling. He guessed it was about nine o’ clock. He hopped out of bed and stepped into the living room and had a small breakfast of rolls and apples. He put on his long coat and his fur hat, then stepped through the front door and saw his grandfather sitting in the chair he had sat in the evening before, reading a manuscript of the Flameseeker Prophecies.
“Come sit down boy, let us talk.” Jabez said as he closed the manuscript and set it aside. Jericho sat down in the snow in front of Jabez. “Tell me Jericho, why does our family carry this mantle? Why do we live as the Zelyoniy Ranger? “Because Melandru blessed our family’s founder, Jedidiah, with the task of guiding and protecting the old king, Doric, during the Magic Wars. After Doric and the gods ended the Wars Jedidiah continued to defend humanity from those that wish us harm.” Jabez slowly nodded, a smile creased on his face. “That’s right boy. Melandru came to the Ascalonian, Jedidiah, as he was hunting for the notorious Charr Necromancer, The Blackmaw. She commanded him to be the Warden of Tyria, the Zelyoniy Ranger, to protect his king and lead humanity from extinction. She blessed him with this task and he followed it out faithfully, even after Dorics success, and even after the gods left Tyria. Jedidiah made it be that every eldest male of each generation of the McFall family take his place as the Zelyoniy Ranger. That is why we are who we are, and that is why we must pass the mantle of Zelyoniy Ranger unto you.

Five years went by, and young Jericho learned fast. His wise grandfather, Jabez, taught him in the ways of the Ranger. At the age of eighteen, Jericho could professionally use a bow, set traps, tame wild animals, and bend the weather to his will. Jabez was astonished by how quickly and easily his grandson adapted to this difficult way of life. Even as a descendant of Jedidiah, he was quite adept. Perhaps he was one of the “Chosen” spoke of in the Prophecies…

Jericho wiped the sweat out of his eyes and continued to stare at the puzzle before him. There were two stones and a bowl of water. Jericho placed the stones in the dirt so that they angled a shadow that crossed diagonally over the bowl. He then stared at the upper vertex cased by the crossing shadows. An old Mesmer trick. Keeping his eyes at this point, he allowed his vision to blur. The water seemed to twist and take form. The clear liquid turned green, and the world around Jericho swirled buzzed past his head. So loud. So confusing. Then it was quiet. The world stopped.
Jericho refocused his eyes. It was midnight. Somehow twelve hours had passed since he fell into his trance. And he was deep in the woods. Jericho stood, regaining his sense of balance and direction. Suddenly, he heard something move, and it was coming his way. Jericho notched an arrow into his bow and prepared himself for his final challenge. He was ready.

The McFall rolled to his left in a whirling defense, just before an enormous beast plowed its way to where he had just stood. Jericho blinked twice and tried to understand what he was looking at. The beast was an ephemeral monstrosity. It was jet black, but carried a green aura. From its long head grew pearly-white antlers, which were engraved with mysterious runes. Surely this being was a Blessed of Melandru.
Jericho caught the gaze of the being, then heard a ghastly voice, not in his ears, but inside his head. “If you claim yourself to be of the McFall clan, then show me the will of thy spirit.” As soon as the voiced ceased, the warm summer air was swept away and a bitter chill sifted through Jericho’s bones. The being charged straight toward the young Ranger, who swiftly dodged and slid under the beast, then fired a point-blank shot into its throat. The beast hissed and leaped to its left. Jericho stood up and notched another arrow into his bow. The shadowy monster flailed its tail, which was as thick as an oak trunk. The tail nearly hammered Jericho in half, but the Ranger jumped over the hopped over the flailing tail, only to have it slam him up into the air. In midair, the Ranger twisted about and landed on the back of nightmare. He fired an arrow into its spine. And another. And Another. With nothing but a single shot left, Jericho steadied himself on the bucking beast, pulled his bow taut, and let an arrow off right into the skull of the beast. As Jericho leaped off and hid behind a tree, the being screamed and hissed so loud that the branches snapped off trees, hailing upon the Ranger. It writhed and twisted as it sank into the earth, out of the plane of existence.
The freezing chill faded away with the being, and the warm air of the summer night returned. Jericho heaved heavily as he struggled to regain his breath. His mind raced as he replayed the fight in his head. Out of the darkness came the old and frail Jabez. “Jericho… well done.” A thought shot through Jericho’s mind. “Grandfather, have all of the Zelyoniy Rangers had to fight that wretched nightmare?” Jabez spoke in a quiet and baffled way. “Yes Jericho… but your were the only one to ever slay it.”
And so, Jericho McFall became the Zelyoniy Ranger.

Zelyoniy · Apr 20, 2008, 03:15 PM // 15:15

Searing
Much has happened since Jericho McFall passed his family trials. He traveled south of the Great Northern Wall to join the Ascalonian Vanguard, and got accustomed to the south-wall way of living. After weeks of tracking down a Charr interloper known by the name of Vatlaaw Doomtooth, Jericho joined Prince Rurik and other Vanguard initiates to vanquish the beast, and together they slew him and stopped whatever his plans were of undermining Ascalon. With glory and a soldier’s pay, Jericho trekked north of the wall to his hamlet and family, which he had not seen in five years.

As Jericho sat down under an oak tree to enjoy his midday meal, he found that he had no need for shade; the sky was quite overcast. Something about it didn’t seem right though. Rather than holding a cool, gray color, the clouds had an orange tint to them. Jericho decided not to pay any mind to it. After all, it wasn’t the end of the world…
Jericho unwrapped some salted pork and chewed on it contently. He viewed the northland countryside that surrounded him. A gentle breeze through the knee-high grass and an occasional hare could be seen hopping through the clearing. Moa birds could be heard squawking a mile away. As always, Ascalon looked so beautiful. It made him proud to be who he was.
Hearing a rustle in the grass, Jericho instinctively placed a hand on his bow. He looked up and saw a flock of moa birds bolting by, as if scared. Three rabbits hopped frantically around in circles. A pack of wolfs darted right past the rabbits into a thicket, oblivious to their presence. Jericho heard something approaching him very quickly, and he turned just in time to see a young buck leap over his head. “What the hell is going on?”
Jericho put his food away and ran out from under the tree. Overhead, literally thousands of birds of all variety flew south. The cacophony of beating wings was almost deafening. “It’s a mass migration, this time of fall?” Beyond the birds, the sky now lost its orange tint; it turned to a deep blood red. The clouds swirled and churned like in a hurricane, a hammering thunder filled Jercho’s ears.
Then, from seemingly nowhere, a massive, purple, crystalline object fell through the clouds, down to the earth. Jericho had never seen anything such as this. He balled his hands into fists. It fell behind the canopy line, out of Jericho’s view. Then it impacted the earth. Light from over the canopy line momentarily blinded Jericho and dust whipped at his face like shards of glass. Once he cleared his eyes, he could see again, Jericho spotted dozens more of those crystalline objects falling through the clouds. They were falling all over the countryside.
Blam! A crystalline object fell behind Jericho and he was knocked off his feet by an overwhelming wave of energy and flew for thirty yards. He landed on his crown and bounded violent like a tossed rag doll. Half-conscious, Jericho clenched the base of his aching neck to relive the throbbing pain of the whiplash. He turned around to see what had happened. Right where he sat down to eat, that tree and the field around it: decimated. All gone. Nothing was left but splintered trees and purple crystal jutting out of the ground. Through the ringing in his ears, Jericho could hear more impacts around him, ravaging the land. “By the gods, the world is coming undone!”

Sorrow in Ascalon. Ascalon, once so full of people, is now nearly deserted. She who was great among the kingdoms, now sits alone like a widow. Once a queen of Tyria, she is now a slave. Her denizens weep through the night; tears stream down their cheeks. Among all her allies, there are none left to comfort her. All her friends have betrayed her and become her enemies. Her children have been led away into captivity, oppressed with cruel slavery. Ascalon lives among enemy nations and has no place to rest. Her enemies have chased her down, and she has nowhere to turn. The roads to Rin are in mourning, for crowds no longer come to celebrate the festivals. The city gates are silent, her monks groan, her young maidens are crying – how bitter is Ascalon’s fate! In the midst of their sadness and wandering, Ascalon’s people remember its ancient splendor. But now Ascalon has fallen to the Northern Ones, and there is no one to help her. Her enemy struck her down and laughed as she fell.

Dust, dirt, ash, soot. Jericho was covered in it all. When he tried to wipe the grime out of his eyes he only rubbed more in. And the air was so cloy, so thick, and arid. He could hardly sweat to cool his overheated body. He could not even shed a single tear for his decimated homeland. His neck ached and his mind whirled around like a fierce torrent. He could not think straight. The disorientation took its toll on Jericho. He dropped to his knees and vomited his lunch. He seemed to think a little clearer now. Getting to the hamlet, to his family, that’s all that mattered now.

White running, Jericho took in the horrid view. The ground was torn upside down and littered with dead trees and animals. The trees that had not been uprooted were naked, as in winter, though the leaves should not have fallen off for another few weeks. Everything was red, baron, and fractured. This Ascalon was not that which he knew. This was a strange, new, alien world to him.
He heard a noise. From the experience he learned serving in the Vanguard he knew what it was. Asaclon’s ancient foe: the Charr. They were approaching. Jericho was weak and injured, he couldn’t fight them, and he had to find cover. There wasn’t any grass or trees, just dirt. The Charr had to number at least a dozen. Jericho’s heart pounded in his chest. Looking down at his ash-covered arms, he realized that the filth made him the same color as the ground he stood on. He threw his back against a slope and sate still and reptilian-like, waiting and saying a prayer.
A Charr said, “Praise the Titans! Look at the destruction. I wonder how far past the wall it goes. It must go on forever.” Another replied, “Aye, our prey has been crushed. There is no way they could have survived the cleansing fire.” A third snapped, “Nonsense you fool! They have been defeated, not destroyed. A scout said that they’ve found survivors south of the wall, and that we’ve captured a nest of humans northwest of here. They’re exterminating the vermin one by one. Jericho’s blood rushed with excitement. The hamlet yet stands? And its people have been imprisoned?
An exhausted-looking Charr Axe Fiend exclaimed in a grumpy tone, “Let us pause and rest for a moment. My paw still aches from stomping on that fat human’s skull.” The weary beast limped to the slope at which Jericho laid. The oblivious Charr was about to sit right on top of him. Jericho tried to panic. No matter what move he made he would draw attention to himself and blow his life-saving cover. He clenched his hands on his hunting knife. It was do or die.

As soon as the Charr plopped on his haunches he bellowed in agony. “My brothers, I h-have been p-punctured!” His comrades watched in shock as a human arm equipped with a blade reached around the Axe Fiend and slit its throat. Gargling, the Charr was kicked onto his face. From behind the slain beast stood a filthy human that sheathed the blade on an ankle pouch and whipped a recurve bow off his back. They Charr drew their blades, staves, and axes. Jericho sidestepped to his right as he notched an arrow in his bow. He made sure he had room behind him. He couldn’t allow himself to be cornered. A Charr Ash Walker said, “Another Outwaller. Cut his throat like he did to
Snagmane.”
A Charr Blade Storm rushed toward Jericho, who scooped up a handful of dirt and peppered the beast in the eyes. As he bounded to his side to jump clear of the stumbling Blade Storm’s path, another bashed Jericho with its shield. The Ranger hit the ground hard and the air was knocked out of his lungs. One of the the Blade Storm mercilessly kicked the Ranger in the head. He felt cool blood trickling down his brow.
The Blade Storm then raised his sword over his ears and prepared to deliver Jericho a death blow. “Welcome to eternity rodent.” As the blade was about to drop on Jericho’s torso, eh grabbed hold of his hunting knife, whipped it out of its leather pouch, and sawed at the Charr’s calf, severing its Achilles tendon. The Charr fell backwards and lost hold of its sword. The blade impaled the beast and pinned it to the ground.
Jericho mustered the strength to leap to his feet. So weak and surrounded by his foes, he chose his only viable option: run.

Much like a mindless automaton, Jericho flew through a tarnished field. All that his weary mind could function was escape. He would’ve taken another path if he realized that the muck under his feet was incinerated human flesh.
The Charr Ash Walker had casted a hex on him, and Jericho feel the life siphon sap away his vitality. His bloody brow throbbed in pain at every heartbeat. Luckily, the monsters were no match for his adrenaline-induced speed, and were far behind him. Try to come to a stop, Jericho tripped on his own feet and rolled in the dirt. “How graceful.”
With a shaky hand, he opened a jar of Troll Unguent and applied the ointment to his many wounds and bruises. Immediately he could feel its regenerative effects. Now with a clear head, he closed his eyes and read the wind. The currents told him that there was a something big a few hundred yards northeast of here. Home.
The green grasslands of Ascalon were no more. All that remained were dirty, ashy fields where little grew. There were no more grand lakes or rivers. Where they once were remain bubbling tar pits. The people survived by eating anything they could find and digging deep into the earth in hope of finding an aquifer. All they had known was stolen from them by the Northern Ones. But these lands were burned and seared. Fire destroys all life, but enriches the soil beneath it. Rich soil provides a chance for new life and for the lands to grow green again one day. This is why the Ascalonians never gave up.

Jericho McFall crawled on his stomach to a giant crystal, which loomed over the hamlet like a watchtower. He climbed the mass and gazed upon the chaos below. He judged the predicament and prepared to strike.

Through the eyes of little Theresa, all was lost. The sky fell’ the monsters came to their home, and people died. Her mother screamed as Daddy was dragged away, kicking and screaming. The monsters said that they were going to teach everyone a lesson and kill all the men.
Clinging on to her mother’s dress, she watched as daddy was held to his knees on the execution block. The Charr executioner’s axe hovering over his neck. In Daddy’s eyes she saw not fear, but anger. Her mother told her to close her eyes, but should she couldn’t find the strength to do so. A loud, angry voice said, “Stop now you surly bastard!” That voice sounded like that of the big Ranger man, Jacob, but that couldn’t be. She turned around and saw Jacob’s son, who walked toward the monsters and Daddy.

Jericho felt all eyes fall on him. A righteous anger coursed through his veins. “Keep yer mouths shut and let that man free.” An amused Charr said mockingly "And who do you think you ar -" An arrow to the face silenced him. “I told you to keep yer damned mouth shut, beast!”
The Charr invaders stood shocked. Who was this little mouse? What did he possibly think he could accomplish? The man on the execution block said in disbelief, “Jericho McFall, son of Jacob, you have returned. The captive humans of the McFall Hamlet seemed to suddenly spring to life. Woman and children whispered among another and the captured men fought against the grip of the captors.
Jericho exclaimed, “We are Ascalonians, and we are Askhalon Outwallers! We stand defiantly against you northern beasts. We fear not you claw nor you blade. We will not stand for imprisonment and death!” He then fired an arrow into the paw that held the man at the execution block. The man sprung to his feet and drew his sword. With a scream, he lunged into his captor and ran him through with the razor edge. He pointed the blade to the sky and yelled, “For great justice! For Askhalon!” The other men broke free almost simultaneously.
Loss of control threw the Charr into a fit of panic. They had no time to react and were cut down in great numbers by the fierce men. A Shaman, who was the warband leader, told the Charr Stalkers, “Flee south! Let Bonfaaz know that there is still human resistance up here! Go!” As the Stalkers flew from the hamlet, many were shot dead by Jericho and a handful of Askahlon Rangers. Only two escaped.
The man who escaped the execution block walked toward the only remaining invader, the Shaman, and said “This is for Jacob, cur.” He then beheaded the beast.
Rather than cheering in victory and praising Jericho, the Askhalon Outwallers bowed their heads in a mournful solemnity. The man turned toward Jericho and looked him in the eyes and said, “My name is Ben Felton, and you are now the Zelyoniy Ranger.” The people of the McFall Hamlet bowed to Jericho. Troubled, Jericho searched the crowd for his mother. He saw her staring off into nothing with a disturbing look on her face. A rock dropped in the pit of Jericho’s stomach.