Shikari Part 1: The First Claimant
Part 1 of our brand new lore series. Part 2 will be dropping in the Aradena Library next week, with bi-weekly narrative updates from now until release.
Shikari was once a stout and ardent supporter of Aradenius and his revolutionary vision. He followed the sanguine Founder of Legend into the fray as they clashed with the unlighted forces of Sagran the Bloodless; a calamitous war that inked the tapestry of time with a globule of red, rank blood. With his closest advisors at his side, Aradenius defeated Sagran, the Warlord of the Wastes, and presented his head to the gods for reckoning — for no mortal could possess the moral authority to judge a life so heinous. With Sagran’s dissevered body lying at the foot of his now fractured and headless empire, Aradenius and his companions began to rebuild what remained.
Dedication bred prosperity; prosperity bred authority; authority bred jealousy.
Shikari became envious. He coveted the adoration that accompanied Aradenius; his infallible authority and humble, modest morality. Spite and malice bloomed. Shikari began to hate his brother-in-arms, a passionate despisal that erupted in anger. Only an act so wicked could free him from his torment and bequeath upon him the riches and praise that he craved. He quivered at the thought, but sharpened his dagger nonetheless. He would act. Shikari would slice the King’s throat in the dead of night and seize the burgeoning throne of the up-start kingdom.
He lay in wait, coiled and ready to take what he was owed — what he deserved. However, in a moment that sealed the fate of countless histories to come, the King was not killed that day. Before the dagger could pierce his throat, Aradenius turned. He lay eyes on a man that he called brother; a man that had stood beside him when faced with death and destruction. A man that had shared in bread and wine, in merriment and melancholy, in life and death. As Aradenius stared into the bloodshot eyes of his comrade, he saw a bitter and emulous darkness, fraught with fear and rage. But behind the inky pip of his eye, where the soul truly resides, he witnessed that redemption was not wholly lost.
He understood his jealousy and felt his anger. In an act that solidified his remembrance as a wise and magnanimous ruler, Aradenius gave Shikari a choice. “Kill me now, or face me in combat, for if you are truly fit to rule, then let it be. The King is dead, long live the King.” So it was that those that, shoulder to shoulder, faced the trials and tribulations of war and peace would end their fraternity on the blood-soaked field of battle. The news of Shikari’s dissent and Aradenius’ magnanimity spread far and wide. The people flocked to the field, soon to be consecrated in combat. The cheers bellowed with the name of their King, and not a whisper sounded the name, Shikari.
The battle was long and matched. Each man trading blow for blow as hot steel sparked in the moonlight. Bludgeoned and bespattered with blood, Shikari and Aradenius never faltered. The King’s generosity was no sign of weakness, and Shikari’s envy fuelled his fervent rage. However, as the sun rose in the eastern sky, Shikari fell. Cleaved by a blow that left him broken and beaten, the usurper demanded a clean death. The cries of the crowd grew louder, begging for the blood of he that tried to kill their beloved King. But Aradenius loosened his grip and dropped his sword. Looking down at his brother-in-arms, he thought only of the man he once was and the history they had shared. The King banished the would-be usurper, forced to walk the wilds in exile.
Shikari was filled with fury and hatred. His blood seeped into the dust as he trudged through the wilds. Refusing any aid or treatment, Shikari left the grounds of the ruinous duel, broken and limping. He walked for days, driven by nothing but rage. Powered by his animus for Aradenius, he pushed on. After weeks that merged into months, Shikari found what his destiny had designed. A vast and craterous chasm, the desolate remains of a long-lost age.
Ley Lines of magic crackled underfoot. A mystic miasma that enveloped the site streaked the rocks with a hue of intangible colour. It was in this ancient site of eldritch and antiquated magic that Shikari fell. Crumpled in the epicentre of the pit, he succumbed to death. In his final breath, Shikari prayed to any that would listen: for redemption, for the death of Aradenius, and the strength to deal the final blow.
Something heard.
The miasma swelled and roiled. Streaks of magic lengthened like glistening tentacles and pierced his dying body.
The ground trembled and rocks floated into the air, held up by some unimaginable force. Shikari cried in pain, his anguish and odium for Aradenius ringing in his mind. The ancient power that inhabited the crater twisted its visitor, shifting and moulding as it saw fit. Shikari was mangled, buckled and crushed. His human form was forsaken. But as the dust settled, he rose.
He flexed his fingers. They creaked as metal grinded against metal. He admired his new form, imbued by his hatred and want for redemption.
A pure magical spirit, he was reborn as a manifestation of his prayer. His ethereal form forever encased in an armour of tempered blackened steel. His eyes fired with a fizzling blue magic and his soul thirsted for the essence of others…
