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jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years

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Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 05: MISSING, PRESUMED DEATH

QUEST SUMMARY:

Sliske invites all of Gielinor’s returned gods to his ‘grand ascendency’, claiming godhood. Instead, he uses the platform to pit all the gods against one another in a free-for-all that threatens to tear Gielinor apart. Their incentive? The sole survivor will be awarded what every deity is desperate for - the Stone of Jas…

CHAPTER 2: EMPYREAN CITADEL

K'ril Tsutsaroth, the demon servant of Zamorak, stood behind two of the Zamorakian Mahjarrat, Enakhra and Zemouregal. To their left, two uncomfortable avianse glared at the intruders to their citadel - after all, the Empyrean Citadel was once Armadyl’s seat of power on Gielinor. On the other side of the room, General Graardor looked irritated at the whole affair and one wrong glance away from crushing some skulls. Meanwhile, Commander Zilyana and the elf Ilfeen were locked in a tense argument. Guarding the entrance to the throne room were the six Barrows Brothers, unmoving and unblinking.

“This place is a powder keg…” Jahaan muttered to Icthlarin, taking note of just how many people here wished to see his head roll.

Nodding, Icthlarin stated, “We mustn’t waste time. Let us enter the throne room.”

Jahaan started to follow him, but then saw two figures out of the corner of his eye, loitering at the far end of the room. “Ah, actually, I have to deal with something first. I’ll meet you in there.”

Accepting this, Icthlarin approached one of the Brothers. Registering him, the six of them stepped aside, and the large throne room doors creaked upon, allowing Icthlarin passage.

Zemouregal seemed to take umbrage to this. “Now Icthlarin’s allowed in?! I’ve had enough of this - get out of my way!”

Zemouregal attempted to force his way past Guthan, but as soon as he took a forceful stride forwards, he was thrown halfway across the room. Not by Guthan, mind you. More like he was repelled by the shadows themselves, an energy force field that created a solid wall of ‘fuck you’.

A strange laugh echoed across the chamber. “HAHA! Access: DENIED!”

Picking himself off the floor, embarrassed and seething, Zemouregal shouted, “Enough of this madness! Let me in, Sliske!”

While Jahaan managed to contain his laughter, albeit barely, the rest of the room erupted into a vast range of quaint giggles to roaring, bellowing laughter. If Mahjarrat could blush, Zemouregal would have turned six shades darker by now.

The throne room of the Empyrean Citadel wasn’t large in size, but it crammed in enough decadence in such a small space to make up for it. The walls were the purest marble, white and perfect, without a single scratch on them. Cyan Rune ore bordered the marble, bridging between the patterned tiled floors and the edge of the walls, as a skirting board, if you will. A beautifully woven red carpet led from the sturdy elderwood door to the winged black and gold throne, currently vacant. There was no roof, nor glass for the windows, allowing the brilliant clear skies to pour and seep natural light among the occupants of the chamber. Two empty black bird cages flanked the throne.

Floating slightly up from the floor were stone podiums; light alone carved symbols onto the red bases of the hovering structures.

They were the symbols of the gods.

However, only half of the podiums were taken, but they were filled by the most prolific gods in Gielinor.

Saradomin, the God of Order, stood defiantly on his podium, his magnificent white armour glowing in the sunlight. A gold and diamond two tiered crown sat atop his blue-skinned head - the Crown Archival, one of the twelve Elder Artefacts. On his chest plate was printed the symbol of his religion - a four-pointed star.

His white, pupilless eyes pierced daggers through the being stood across the room.

“You claim your acts are not senseless,” he was arguing, “and yet you tried to massacre the people of Falador with an undead army!”

Wow, a LOT had happened after the war...

“Oh, shut up, Saradomin. My general went rogue. Shit happens. Get over it,” Zamorak, the God of Chaos, protested, his crimson pointed wings stretching outwards. He’d clearly recovered from the aftermath of the Battle of Lumbridge - there wasn’t a wound to be seen. Divine healing, perhaps?

Saradomin scoffed. “I will not ‘get over it’. If you cannot control your own generals, what type of commander are you? I will defend my people from you at all costs.”

Armadyl, the avian God of Justice, rounded on Saradomin. His amber feathers faded into red in a calming gradient, fluttering in the breeze. “You speak as if you are a benevolent deity, Saradomin, but the violence you incite reveals your true nature, and your hypocritical ways.”

Bandos, the God of War, grunted. His large stature and green skin was covered head to toe in brown stone armour. “You need war, like Bandos. You crave war. You all do.”

At this, the imposing doors creaked open, another figure stepped through into the chamber.

Saradomin crinkled his brow, confused. “Icthlarin?”

“Damn, this dog has strayed far from his home,” Zamorak commented, a mocking overtone to his words.

“I see Sliske has managed to bend you all to his will too, then,” Icthlarin groaned, ignoring Zamorak entirely.

Bandos huffed. “Bandos thought only mightiest of gods invited. Why is little dog here?”

“I am a god, and the recipient of an invitation, same as you. We must be wary of Sliske’s plot.”

“Know your place, Icthlarin,” Saradomin warned, his chest pushed out and his head held high. “You would be a fool to believe yourself wiser than I.”

Armadyl rolled his eyes. “At least he doesn’t have your arrogance, Saradomin. I, for one, and thankful for the presence of another level head.”

Bandos growled, “You are arrogant, bird-man. And you, dog, you have the nerve to think you can warn us? Warn the mighty Bandos?!”

“Take my words as you will. It doesn’t change the fact that we all stand here, manipulated by the snake,” Icthlarin pointed out, taking his place on the podium with his symbol on it, though it was on the back row, behind the others.

Zamorak sniffed a laugh. “Please. I came because I wanted to. I wasn’t going to miss this.”

“Understandable. Like Sliske, you are of the Mahjarrat,” Icthlarin pointed out. “He knew you would come to watch another of your kind ascend. He just had to ask. It is the rest of us, I’m afraid, that have been manipulated.”

Bandos roared a mighty laugh. “You think Bandos manipulated? Amusing little dog. Sliske made promise to Bandos, and promise mean Bandos come.”

Armadyl rolled his eyes, muttering, “Ah yes, I wonder what that promise was…”

“Hush, bird-man. Sliske promise Bandos you would all be here. Sliske promised Bandos WAR. You will ALL fall!”

Saradomin raised his chin, sticking it out with pride and defiance that his ego commanded. “Ha! Try me. You know what I’m capable of.”

“Not capable of seeing through Sliske’s deception, though...” Armadyl noted, pointedly.

“Unless my eyes deceive me, I see you stood here the same as me, Armadyl.”

“This is my citadel!” Armadyl snapped back. “I will not stand idly by while Sliske intrudes upon the ancient home of my people!”

Zamorak turned his attention to Icthlarin. “And what about you, then? Just happy to receive an invitation, were you?”

“The snake has kidnapped Death. What is the god of the Underworld without Death?”

Zamorak laughed derisively. “Haha! So you’ve come to save your princess, huh?”

Bandos joined in on the fun. “The dog comes to fetch his bones.”

“Enough!” Icthlarin cut through their mocking, sharply. “Sliske will be enjoying this, us turning on one another. Shall we set aside our differences until this madness has come to a conclusion?”

“Icthlarin’s right,” Armadyl stepped forward. “We’ve all been summoned here for a reason. Here we stand, the most gods in a single space since The First Age. Let us focus our attention on Sliske, not squabbling like mortals.”

Meanwhile...

Jahaan had noticed Azzanadra and Wahisietel among the present company and was torn on whether to approach them and potentially face the wrath of Azzanadra. The fact Wahisietel was there did help matters, for Jahaan knew he had an ally in Ali the Wise, but it still took a lot of internal encouragement to put one foot in front of the other.

Just… water under the bridge… Jahaan tried to reassure himself, faltering as he caught Azzanadra’s eyeline.

Huffing, he concluded that there was ‘no time like the present’ and stepped close enough to greet them. “Wahisietel. Azzanadra.”

“Jahaan,” Wahisietel said the name warmly, while Azzanadra echoed it with a hint of bitterness that was ill-concealed.

Wahisietel, obviously irritated by the awkward silence that followed, nudged his Mahjarrat companion, urging a reluctant Azzanadra to speak.

Purple eyes peered down into Jahaan’s green ones. “I was disappointed by your actions in Guthix’s chamber, Jahaan. I had faith in you. I thought you would trust me over those Guthixians. However... it took some... convincing…” his eyes lingered on Wahisietel as he struggled to get the words out. “But I see now why you acted as you did. Zaros has not yet proven himself to you, and the Guthuxians had flooded your mind with their propaganda. I was not pleased, but I forgive you.”

He offered a hand out to Jahaan, one large enough to engulf the human’s with ease. Nevertheless, a relieved Jahaan took it gladly. “Thanks, Azzanadra. I’m sorry it all had to happen the way it did.”

“As am I, but we shall speak no more of it.”

More than content with this, Jahaan happily changed the topic. “So, did Sliske invite you?”

“He did not,” Azzanadra grumbled. “As fellow Zarosian Mahjarrat, we believed he would welcome us inside.”

Wahisietel added, “It would seem only the gods themselves were deemed worthy of invitations. These undead brothers refuse our entry.”

Azzanadra gravely remarked, “With such powerful beings gathered here, it is only a matter of time until someone breaks in…”

“...And it will take more than some of Sliske's wights to stop them,” Wahisietel finished, scanning the room with a calculated glare.

Something sparked in Jahaan’s mind, a forgotten detail Azzanadra had accidentally jogged to the forefront of his memory. “Wait, Sliske’s a Zarosian?”

“Ha. ‘Was’ might be a more apt term…” Wahisietel grumbled. “He has always been selfish. Now he has the arrogance to claim godhood? I seriously doubt his loyalty to the Empty Lord.”

Azzanadra didn’t seem to have Wahisietel’s conviction, despite his own devotion to the Empty Lord and disdain for those who defy him, something Jahaan knew first hand.

Thus, his rebuttal was weak and mumbled. “Sliske has his own methods Wahisietel. We do not know the extent of his loyalty…”

“I do not know why you still desire to trust him, Azzanadra,” Wahisietel shook his head, his features a picture of disappointment and worry.

Hiding his fretting well enough, Azzanadra sternly maintained, “We have no way of knowing if he is still loyal to Zaros; Sliske has always played his cards close to his chest.”

“Do you believe he has ascended to godhood?” Jahaan inquired.

“It would seem he has completed the steps to become a god,” the words didn’t come to Azzanadra easily, like he was walking on foreign soil. “But I do not believe that he has truly ascended. Not yet, that is.”

Wahisietel was quick to jump in, “What we believe is irrelevant - what we know is important. Sliske is not only mischievous, but he is also dangerous,” he sniffed a humourless laugh. “I'm not even sure he trusts himself.”

“Why, If it isn’t the World Guardian!”

The rough, growling voice startled Jahaan; he shot around, seeing Zemouregal was making a b-line straight towards him. Wahisietel and Azzanadra shifted their stances ever so subtly, not wanting to alert the entire room they were preparing themselves for a fight, if Zemouregal instigated one. Enakhra tailed behind him.

Taking that Zemouregal had a good foot on him, towering over Jahaan like he were an infant, it was hard not to be intimidated by the armoured Mahjarrat. After barely scraping by his last encounter with Zemouregal - it was the Mahjarrat’s pride and ego that ultimately led to his defeat - Jahaan didn’t fancy his chances on a second go-around, especially with Enakhra backing him. Even with Azzanadra and Wahisietel as back-up, if a conflict arose, who’s to say General Graardor wouldn’t muck in on the action, or Commander Zilyana wouldn’t settle an old score from Guthix’s chamber?

He knew he had a lot of enemies here, and wanted to antagonise none of them.

But it was oh-so tempting to rub in Zemouregal's defeat at his hands, right in front of everybody...

“What are you doing here, mortal?” Zemouregal's derisively asked. “Got tired of baking pies or cutting trees, or whatever it is your kind do for fun.”

“I could ask you the same question,” Wahisietel cut Jahaan’s response off before he could say something they all would, inevitably, regret.

“We have come to deal with that filthy Zarosian - Sliske - once and for all,” Zemouregal declared, sneering up at Azzanadra, making sure the insult wasn’t lost on present company. In return, Azzanadra squared up to him and countered, “I don’t see you doing a very job of getting in. Those wights of his a little too formidable for you, Zemouregal?”

Hissing a curse word coarse on Jahaan’s mortal ears, Zemouregal sized up to Azzanadra; their noses were practically touching at this point.

“Enough, Zemouregal,” Enakhra, surprisingly, was the volunteer ‘voice of reason’, cautious of the attention they were gathering from the followers of other gods. “There will be time enough for this. There are more pressing matters at hand. Sliske,” she spat the word like poison. “is claiming ascension? Please. Zamorak walked that path many years ago. He was worthy of the title.”

“Sliske isn’t half the Mahjarrat our master is,” Zemouregal finished, haughtily.

“Which still makes him twice the Mahjarrat you are…” Jahaan couldn’t help but mumble under his breath, earning a snicker-turned-cough from Azzanadra. Oh come on, he walked RIGHT into that one…

Zemouregal, on the other hand, did not see the funny side. “What was that, human?!”

“Enough!” Enakhra was, once again, the one to ease the icy tension of the room. Nevertheless, her frustration did seem to be catching up to her, her forehead creased like crumbled papyrus. “I can’t stand your company any longer. Sliske cannot claim godhood without us having something to say about it,” she growled, turning tail and storming off across the citadel hall. Admittedly, it wasn’t a large expanse of space, so she looked akin to a sulking child running off to grumble in the corner.

After one pronounced and threatening look to Jahaan, his steely glare reading him a death sentence, Zemouregal parted as well.

Stretching out the kinks in his neck and rolling his aching shoulders, Jahaan remarked, “I don’t think Zemouregal’s going to take it well when I’m allowed through…”

This caused Wahisietel to pause. “You have an invitation?”

“More like I’m Icthlarin’s plus one,” Jahaan surmised, figuring Sliske would have likely ascended by the time he explained the whole spiel to them. “Speaking of, I don’t think I can delay the inevitable much longer…”

Wahisietel placed a comforting hand on Jahaan’s shoulder. “Good luck in there, World Guardian.”

Azzanadra placed a large palm on Jahaan’s other shoulder, an unusual display of affection for the forbidding Mahjarrat. “You have our support.”

Inside the throne room...

“...There is no place for your theory of chaos in a peaceful world,” Armadyl was stating, assertively. “Only the just will persevere.”

Zamorak challenged, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Armadyl. All you do is TALK. You never DO. I say less talking, more action.”

Bandos roared with laughter, clapping his giant hands together. The force of the shockwaves created could be felt across the room. “Yes, fight! Bandos would enjoy watching you rip pieces off each other!”

Suddenly, a voice echoed around the chamber. “Now now, children, settle down…”

The gods looked amongst themselves, high and low, before a flash of grey smoke revealed Sliske, entering with a theatrical flourish, before standing confidently in front of the throne.

Saradomin clenched his fist. “Do not presume that I won’t kill you where you stand, Sliske.”

“Indeed,” Armadyl concurred, “What if your claims of great power are no more tangible than the smoke that brought you here?”

“I thought you might say that. Well, in as many words...” Sliske rubbed his palms together, his smile spreading into a devilish grin. “So I brought a little surprise for you all. Try not to get too excited!”

With a click of his fingers, the cages beside the throne became bathed in smoke and mist. Once it ebbed away into the nothingness, two figures could be seen inside.

“To my right, the one and only… DEATH!” Sliske announced with a grand wave of his arm. “And to my left, the ferocious dragonkin… Strisath! I know, I know, I impress even myself sometimes. You may hold your applause.”

“Pah!” Bandos spat. “What makes you think your new toys will stop Bandos from crushing you?”

Armadyl piped up, “Gods, we could put an end to this lunacy right now.”

“Ah ah ah, slow down, everyone,” Sliske calmed them, taking a seat on the throne behind him. The act made Armadyl twitch. “Let us think about this. What would happen to your mortal followers if I were to kill Death itself, I wonder?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Icthlarin barked, fire in his eyes.

“Wouldn't I?” Sliske’s eyebrows raised in challenge. “Even if that wasn’t enough to put you off, how about I release Strisath? His power has been quite formidable lately…”

Saradomin’s eyes narrowed. “Someone's been using the Stone of Jas.”

Sliske smiled, innocently. “Perhaps. Now, if any of you would like to take the risk, be my guest. Anyone? No? I thought not. Now, where were we?”

“Let Death out of the cage!” Icthlarin demanded, his fury barely containable, and he was barely able to hold himself back, until the creaking of the large door snapped his mind back into sanity.

Jahaan strode through the large doorway into the marble chamber, his eyes briefly clocking and noting down the present gods before his eyes fell upon Sliske.

“Well well, the guest of honour has arrived,” Sliske drawled. “You’re late.”

Icthlarin nodded to him, a small smile of relief breaking up his features. “Welcome, friend.”

Bandos, instead, was incredulous. “What is this pathetic human doing here?”

“He is the infamous World Guardian,” Sliske explained. “What’s the matter, Bandos? Jealous?”

Jahaan held his chin high as he walked further down the red carpet, settling himself between two of the god’s podiums, a smile dancing on his lips.

Zamorak scoffed. “And how did you get an invitation? Make one in an arts and crafts class?”

“He has more right to be here than you, weakling,” Saradomin countered, his eyes flashing with an open challenge. Before Zamorak could accept - which he would have gladly done - Sliske cut in, “Moving on! You are just in time for the main event: my ascension into godhood! Are you all sitting comfortably?”

Zamorak’s patience was wearing thin. “Get on with it then, charlatan!”

Sliske could only laugh. “Ooo feisty! ‘Charlatan’, he says, coming from the usurper and backstabber himself. I’ll let it slide - I can see you’re all desperate to know what this is about. You see, I happened across a couple of artifacts… of the Elder variety.”

Armadyl was quick to vocalize, “The Elder God Artefacts are not mere playthings for your amusement, Sliske. They are incredibly dangerous!”

“Yes, yes. You’d only need to ask a certain deceased god to figure that out. Oh, sorry - too soon? Ah, but I have not only managed to acquire your staff, Armadyl, but also... the Stone of Jas.”

“Bullshit!” Zamorak spat. “There is no proof you have the Stone!”

Sliske replied with a coy smirk, “You think I just go around kidnapping dragonkin for fun?”

Said dragonkin, Strisath, barked, “Arg! You will pay for this, False User!”

“Angry little darling, isn’t he?” Sliske chuckled, regarding the caged dragonkin with amusement.

Saradomin’s eyes narrowed. “You are not worthy of the power the Stone possesses, Sliske. It could be used to remove all the gods from Gielinor, as Guthix once did.”

“Then you better be careful, eh Sara?”

Armadyl shook his head. “Need I remind you, Sliske, that as your own power increases, as does the power of the dragonkin. The monstrous creatures obliterated the planet neighbouring my homeworld. The longer you play with fire, Sliske, the longer they will burn you for it.”

Jahaan regarded the increasingly rageful dragonkin with trepidation, only taking mild comfort from the fact there were two gods closer to it than he was. Gulping down his fear, he turned back to Sliske and asked, “How did you capture the dragonkin, anyway? And the Staff… how’d you get your hands on it?”

Sliske clapped his hands together with glee. “Now, this really was quite clever of me. See, dragonkin are awfully predictable as a species. It didn’t take much for me to lure Strisath into the Shadow Realm. In he came, charging like a big scaly canine, and what does he bring with him? Why, the Staff of Armadyl! I couldn’t believe my luck! He was its guard at the time, and I suppose he couldn’t leave it unattended when he came after me, but still… a bit daft, wasn’t it Strisath? Not only did he trap himself in the Shadow Realm, he brought the Staff straight to me.”

“The Staff isn’t yours, you scoundrel,” Armadyl spat. “The clue is in the title - the Staff belongs to ME.”

“Oh, give it a rest, you little bird,” Bandos cut in, “You are weak. The Staff should belong to Bandos.”

Ignoring the two bickering Gods arguing over his head, Jahaan said, “I helped with this intricate teleportation… thing… to get rid of the Stone. How did you find it?”

“Oh, yes - an ingenious plan of yours, I must say, the way you disposed of the Stone. It took an even more ingenious plan to outplay you there. I wish I could take credit for it, but I had a little help. See, I've been told that the Staff of Armadyl is an extremely versatile tool. With Strisath imprisoned, I used the Staff to reveal his connection to the Stone, guiding me towards it. Annoyingly, it was frozen in ice beneath the Temple of the Lost Ancients. To say it wasn't easy to retrieve it is putting it mildly.”

Jahaan was still hung up on this ‘'little help’ Sliske spoke of, but before he could question him, an agitated Icthlarin spoke up, “You brought us here for your ascension. Have you achieved godhood or not?”

“Ahaha! You really believe I brought you here so you could have answers? No, no, no - there will be no ascendancy today. That might have been a little white lie, a ruse to get you all here. It's time for the real announcement: I am holding a contest. A free-for-all, you might say. A battle of the gods!”

Zamorak scoffed and shook his head. “This is ridiculous, even for you, and the bar is LOW.”

Saradomin added, “If you think we will be a part of your games, you have truly lost your mind, Sliske.”

“You really are no fun at all, are you Saradomin?” Sliske frowned. “It's not so much a game - more survival of the fittest. There is only one rule, you see. It is not long now until our moon - Zanaris - passes the sun, resulting in a total eclipse. Gielinor will be engulfed in shadow. It is at this exact moment the contest will end… and the winner will be the person who has killed the most gods.”

Bandos’ face morphed into something resembling a grin, one full of bloodlust and anticipation. “Haha! Finally you say something interesting!”

Saradomin cut him down, “Be quiet and let the intellectuals talk, you brute.”

Armadyl rounded on Sliske. “Why would any of us listen to you, you madman?”

“Because, Armadyl, there’s a prize. One little prize I think you all might be interested in. When the sun is eclipsed and most of you are defeated, to the one that stands victorious I will gift… the Stone of Jas.”

Instantly, the gods were in uproar, cursing and speaking over one another in a frenzy.

“This is ludicrous!”

“This will cause an all-out war between the gods, like the ones seen in the Third Age!”

“You’re insane, Sliske!”

“Don’t believe a word that comes out of this rogue’s mouth!”

“Do you have any idea what this will do to the world? To all of us?!” Saradomin exclaimed, his fists clenching in tight balls.

“What's the matter? Scared Bandos will crush you?” Sliske taunted, menacingly. “Maybe you should be more tactical, you know? Pick off the weaker gods first…” he then turned his attention to Jahaan, who had been rather quiet in the foray. “And what about our honourable guest? How do you feel about this, World Guardian?”

With a deep breath and courage he was only half sure he had, given the present company, Jahaan pronounced, “Icthlarin’s right. We shouldn't trust a word out of Sliske’s mouth. He’s just going to deceive us again.”

“The mortal is correct,” Armadyl declared. “We must not listen to Sliske. We must seek peace through justice.”

“Shut your beak, coward,” Bandos snarled. “Bandos can smell fear. All of you will fall before the mighty war god Bandos!”

“Even if you have become a god, Sliske, you are merely a fledgling,” Saradomin was quick to point out. “You do not have the right to enforce this!”

“Silence!” Sliske cried, rising from the throne with a start. “This petty arguing is becoming irritating. If you won't do it, then I'll kick things off myself…”

Suddenly, Sliske threw a charge of dark energy at Icthlarin, who from the force of the blast was knocked off his podium and to the ground. Before Jahaan could register what was happening, Sliske tossed the key to Death’s cage at him and, with a malicious glint in his eyes, unlocked the dragonkin’s cage.

“Ta-ta!” Sliske cheered before teleporting away, just as the dragonkin lunged for him.

In a manic fury, Strisath reared onto his hind legs, his dagger-like teeth glinting in the sunlight. With a mighty roar, he inhaled deeply and breathed out a scolding stream of fire at Icthlarin. Fortunately, the demigod managed to stumble to his feet in time and shield himself and Jahaan behind a green barrier of energy.

“Why did he give you the key?!” Icthlarin asked in crazed confusion, struggling under the weight of the dragonkin’s fire.

“I don’t know!” Jahaan cried in response.

Strisath then turned his attention to the other gods, sending fire around the room without prejudice, causing the gods to teleport away from the dangerous dragonkin.

Just as another fireball was sent his way, Icthlarin urged. “Go and release Death. I don’t know how long I can hold this barrier…”

With a firm nod of his head, Jahaan made towards to cage. But without the other gods for distraction, Strisath focused his fire on Jahaan. The young man dove to the ground just as a fireball careered over his head, crumbling the marble pillar it came into contact with. To give him the chance he needed to release Death, Icthlarin threw small, irritating bolts of energy at Strisath, just to hold his focus long enough for Jahaan to unlock the cage containing Death.

When he did, Death and Jahaan hurried back behind the protection of Icthlarin’s shield, but the demigod was struggling. “I don’t think I can hold it!”

Once the next fireball hit, the shield crumbled and Icthlarin fell to the ground, panting and gasping for air. He looked up at Death, who used a blue ball of energy to bring forth his Scythe and, just as the next fireball was released towards them, he teleported himself, Icthlarin and Jahaan away.

They returned close to the spot Icthlarin and Jahaan had departed from, Brother Samuel close by. He had acquired a shovel, likely from one of the many tool leprechauns tending to nearby farming patches, and had dug three graves to bury the corpses. A few flowers torn from around the area were placed on top of each mound.

When he saw the return of Jahaan, Icthlarin and Death, he hurried over to them.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed. “Did you bring this Sliske character to justice? And OH-” he regarded Death with the same look a child gives an ogre. “U-Um, hello? You must be Death.”

“Greetings, mortal,” Death addressed. “I am sorry for the loss of your brothers. They are safe in my domain now, and shall rest in peace.”

“Thank you,” Brother Samuel relaxed slightly. “And this Sliske?”

Jahaan regretfully informed, “I’m afraid it wasn’t as easy as that. He had many bargaining chips, to put it simply.”

“But… but he’s a murderer…” Brother Samuel whimpered, his downcast eyes falling upon the graves of his comrades.

It was Icthlarin who put a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder, saying, “Do not fear, mortal. He will be brought to justice. You have my word.”

There was always a gravitas inside Icthlarin’s tone, a voice you could trust with both a promise and a threat, and he spoke both inside his words to Brother Samuel.

“Thank you, Iccy-larin,” Brother Samuel attempted; Icthlarin bit his tongue, deciding it wasn’t the right moment to correct the man. “And thank you all - I am eternally grateful. But now, I will continue my journey onwards now that I know the souls of my brothers are safe. I must inform their loved ones. Farewell.”

After saying their goodbyes, Brother Samuel departed north, carrying the backpacks of his fallen brothers alongside his own.

Death, standing almost two feet above them both, looked down upon Jahaan and Icthlarin and said, “My absence will have consequences. I have to return to my duties; there is an abundance of souls to be reaped. Thank you, my friends. Without you, I may have never escaped.”

“Farewell, Harold,” Icthlarin waved as Death used his scythe to teleport away.

Harold? Jahaan tried not to chuckle, instead asking, “So what will you do now, Icthlarin?”

“There is much work to be done. I have duties to attend to in the Underworld. However, we must be cautious. Gods will fall in the coming days. The Stone of Jas is too powerful to be ignored. Some may fight, some may go for Sliske, some may employ other tactics. But everyone will want the Stone. We could be facing the start of the next God Wars. Even mortals may try to win the Stone,” he put a hand on Jahaan’s shoulder, and using that same solid tone he used on Brother Samuel, said, “Make no mistake, my friend. These are grave times, and we all have a part to play. Clearly Sliske has taken an interest in you. As a World Guardian, your choices could decide the fates of the gods themselves. This is the most pivotal event to have occurred for thousands of years. The consequences will shape a new future.”

Jahaan let out a shaky breath. “No pressure then.”

“I have one last thing to discuss with you before we part ways,” Icthlarin said. “When a person’s life on Gielinor comes to an end, their soul enters my domain. There, I guide them to the afterlife of the deity they worshipped in life.”

“But what about those that are godless?” Jahaan queried. “Where do they go?”

Icthlarin explained, “For those souls, I meet them at the bridge over the River Noumenon, and ask them to decide. They can choose in that moment to cross into the afterlife of a deity they have at least some tangible connection to. Another option is to live on in death, acting as my helpers, to protect souls from The Devourer as I guide them to the afterlife. Otherwise… they cease to be.”

Jahaan furrowed his brow, warily asking, “What do you mean, ‘cease to be’?”

With a hint of trouble in his eyes, Icthlarin continued, “If a soul does not decide upon a destination, I cannot compel it to an afterlife against its will. The Devourer will claim those souls, their existence erased from the Underworld.”

Shaking his head, trying to comprehend this information, Jahaan said, “Okay, but… why are you telling me all this? Why now?”

“You aided me in rescuing Death,” Icthlarin replied, “In return, I thought I would inform you of this, and tell you that, as of now, you have no set destination in the afterlife. While I do not know when you shall pass - that knowledge only resides with the Reaper - I wanted to allow you the opportunity to contemplate your fate, instead of deciding at the last possible moment, as so many poor souls have to do.”

Understanding now, Jahaan smiled warmly and gave the jackal-headed deity a small, humble bow. “Thanks, Icthlarin.”

It was hard to tell due to the nature of his features, but Icthlarin appeared to be smiling back before saying, “Now, I have my duties to attend to in the Underworld. I hope we meet again in this life, my friend.”

Jahaan watched him go with a sigh. Now what?

Readjusting his backpack, making it slightly more comfortable on his shoulders, he just started walking, but west this time.

Perhaps I will try and walk to Prifddinas, he mused, his pace an amble, not a march.

But what Jahaan didn't realise was that, as he ambled on, the world was falling apart behind him.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#sliske #zamorak #saradomin #armadyl #bandos #azzanadra #wahisietel #zemouregal #icthlarin #runescape #fiction

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