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Author Topic: Kaazimir Dvornikov - A Shackled Champion [747 ~ 777]  (Read 904 times)

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Kaazimir Dvornikov - A Shackled Champion [747 ~ 777]
« on: September 17, 2021, 05:41:58 AM »

*~KAAZIMIR DVORNIKOV~*

DIVINE CHAMPION OF THE LAWGIVER
 BLACK KNIGHT OF NOVA VAASA
« Last Edit: April 27, 2022, 05:21:56 AM by Meduegna »

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NOVA VAASA 747
« Reply #1 on: September 17, 2021, 05:46:27 AM »
OPGIVE
[NOVA VAASA 747]
Written by Meduegna

Quote
   Bells of the black cathedral rang out, supported by a grim chorus of crackling thunder and pouring rain.  The rain pelted the gray city of Bergovitsa viciously; very few people were about. Instead of the usual bustling of merchants working the day; the pouring skies took over. Despite the insistence of the relentless rain there was a sound that boomed out above all others; a tyrannical and dominating sound: the cathedral’s bells rang once more, their clamouring heard throughout the city. Their purpose rang two fold: a life entering this world and a life leaving this world. In the pale green fields of the cemetery were littered numerous worn and weathered gravestones; now amongst all the old stone slabs rested a new one. “Here lies Maagnhild Dvornikov; obedient wife, responsible mother, and devout woman. May our Lawgiver grant her entry into the iron gates of paradise.” This fresh gravestone was not alone; though many went to the woman's funeral there were mourners that stood out amongst the crowd. Six children: four boys, one of which was horribly wretched and deformed, and two girls. Standing tall amongst them was their father carrying a black bundle which held an infant. Disinterested and apathetic was the look that struck the fathers face, tall, and lean of frame with little hair upon his head. The most prominent feature of the father was his thick, overly waxed handlebar moustache. The children looked up towards their father wordlessly, obedient and waiting for instruction as they have been so accustomed to. “Leave me.” The father spoke callously with an icy command, “Leave me and seek your uncle.” Silently they complied, moving rather quickly away; it was very clear that the children feared him. The black bells rang as the children left; their father made no hesitation as he moved himself towards the heavy oak doors of the cathedral. The father opened the wooden doors with a single weathered hand, his other clutched onto the black bundle. The interior of the cathedral was wicked in appearance: dark iron colored cobblestone matched with black marble were the foundation of the architecture. Decorated upon the walls were banners of blood red, and adorned upon them was the visage of an copper diamond shaped shield with a spear bound in bronze coils standing upright: the symbol of the Lawgiver. The stained glass windows painted the picture of a man in black armored knight's suit and a horned helmet; wielding a whip in one hand and a spear in the other. Despite having seen these sights so many times, even the father was enamored and had to take a moment to gaze upon their wonder.

“Vegaar!” A voice boomed and echoed across the spacious cathedral. The father turned his head sharply, clutching the infant in hand as his name was called. The bells rang out in a silent pause as Vegaar took in the appearance of the voice's source.

Vegaar bowed, stuttering.: “Kontor Daugaard, I was seeking you.”

An older man with a thick grey white beard and long thinning hair emerged. Despite his age he seemed rather healthy wearing a suit of black armor with sanguine colored tabard featuring the Lawgiver’s symbol. “You have sins to confess?” Daugaard assumed as he approached Vegaar a stern look upon the priest's face.

“Absolutely not, Kontor. I beseech your righteous powers to remove this accursed brood from my grasp!” Vegaar's voice held disdain as he held up an infant boy wrapped in black cloth before the Kontor.

The grizzled old priest furrowed his brows and snarled at the man. “You would have the audacity to claim one of our lord's creations accursed!? A wretched and pathetic man you are, Vegaar. This child is neither twisted nor accursed. This is no caliban freak, begone from my sight and do not ever insult the Black Lord’s creations again!”

The priest's words of fervor and zeal diminished Vegaar greatly. The priest's convictions and words were followed by the ever looming black bells that rang out across the city. Vegaar shrank and took a much softer and more respectful tone. “Maaginhild is gone, I’ve six to care for already, and this one caused her death! I do not want him or whatever ill omen he brings!”

The elder priest knight groaned in frustration. “Let me see the boy,” the Kontor commanded. Without hesitation the black wrapped bundle was handed to the Kontor. Inside rested a pale skinned boy that was large of frame and broad of shoulder. Dark brown hair adorned the baby's head but perhaps most curiously of all were the eyes of the newborn: silver. Silver eyes were rare in the land of Nova Vaasa but not unheard of. “As a father you should be proud, and yet you stand here before me pitiful, and pleading insisting that this child is accursed because of his mothers death?” the Kontor spoke irritably through clenched teeth.

Vegaar replied though hesitantly and carefully “I am unconvinced, Kontor. This one is unclean and foul emerging from a corpse!”

Quickly the Kontor answered with an accusatory and harsh tone. “This has nothing to do with absurd superstitions, Vegaar! I know the state of your house you can’t take on another child, especially not without Maagninhild.”

The truth silenced Vegaar and he  stood wordlessly for a moment before reassuring his previous points. “Kontor, Niklaas is twisted and wretched but no caliban and she lived after him. This boy though? He is accursed I assure--!``

''Quiet your blathering!” A silence hung between the two after the priest of iron quieted the man before finally the hardened priest spoke “I will take him.” elated Vegaar spoke up his voice finally taking on a positive sound “Gratitude Kontor!” and once again the Kontor was quick to cut Vegaar off “I don’t do this for you! I do this for the child. You and that failing family of yours are doomed for a Hell of Slaves! At every turn you seek the easy way out and do not challenge and earn your rewards through painful trials. Your weakness, your laziness, your carelessness will be the fall of the Dvornikov family. What a wonderful gift you have given this infant, he will not have the chance to call you father. This boy will grow, this boy will train, and this boy will be molded by these halls! This child will live and grow in the Divine Emperor's teachings. Fool! I do not rescue you from him! I rescue him from you!” stern was the Kontor’s accusation. Vegaar stood wordlessly trying to form some kind of coherent sentence before the Kontor's voice boomed once again while he motioned to the door with a metal gauntlet finger “Your penance is perhaps life long in that you deny yourself the joys of raising a son of such caliber but in addition you will flagellate nightly lest the clawing talons burst from the Hell of Slaves and drag your sorry backside down to its flaming pit! Leave, now!” and without hesitation Vegaar had left shaken, hurriedly fearful was his face until he came face to face with the pelting rain. Never had rainfall been such a happy sight for the man. Relief washed over him as he exited the Cathedral. Kontor Daugaard looked upon the child, his voice softened yet it remained cold and full of discipline “And you child, who by birth has destroyed the peace of your home. With this act I dub thee Kaazimir. It is not your fault, but you will carry your fathers sin in the form of his surname. You will toil in His holy name to make up for such blight, and you will not cease. You will never cease: Kaazimir Dvornikov, son of the Citadel Fane.” The black bells rang in a gloomy chorus as though they knew what had just occurred.  A mother had died, and a child was abandoned; yet another rainy day in Nova Vaasa.
« Last Edit: April 22, 2022, 10:23:20 AM by The Blasphemer »

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Re: Kaazimir Dvornikov - A Shackled Champion
« Reply #2 on: April 22, 2022, 10:22:08 AM »
BAREDMORD
[NOVA VAASA 756]
Written by Meduegna

Quote
   The stygian bells of the iron cathedral cried out in an unholy symphony that was akin to the wails and cries of widows lamenting the loss of their sons. This instrument of terror was made an orchestra of doom with assistance from the pouring rain and the occasional booming crash of thunder. Though this melody of dread would not be complete without a chorus. The howling sobs of a woman bound in chains fulfilled the role. Escorted by knights clad in steel that was dark as midnight; the Kontor: Daugaard in red ceremonial robes followed closely behind a black book in hand permanently engraved with the cruel etching of a spear across a diamond shield.

"Ikke! Ikke!!!" a wretch of a woman bellowed out as she was escorted within the stone halls. The sight of her was neither warm nor welcoming; covered in earthly toned rags, her hair looked as though she had not washed it in weeks. Mud and debris stuck where it could and her flesh carried this same sort of filth. There were no shoes on this woman and her teeth were crooked an unhealthy shade of yellow.

"I am no criminal! I am innocent! Innocent you brutes of law! You bastards!" The woman wept her despair was fierce but so it was dwarfed by the iron will of vengeful knights of Bane. "Give him back!" the hysterical woman demanded again and again but her desperate shouts were cut off by the steely voice of the red clad priest.

"Silence! Silence harlot of the Saniset! Your chaos you inflict upon the good people of Bergovitsa ends this evening." Kontor Daugaard commanded in a frigid grasping tone, yet it did not silence the woman. "A curse on you! A curse on you and your family!" The crone screeched in response. The Kontor largely ignored her and the hexes she swore out so liberally.

"Astrid Bisgaard. You are given one last final opportunity to appeal to the Iron Tyrant's scrutiny. Confess to the crimes and you may yet inherit the gates of the Iron Paradise..." The Kontor declared audibly and sternly. A rapid response was met by the woman "Never! I do no wrong! You are all slaves of a dark god!" she carried on in her hysteria. It did not deter the priest, and instead he continued. "Your crimes of practicing Mytteri's foul art of magic, Necromancy, prostitution, murder, theft... and harboring a caliban infant.". "Leave him! Spare my boy!" The woman bargained so desperately in her sobs but the Kontor shouted over her "Confess!" the law priest demanded. The woman sobbed, hanging her head in defeat before releasing a defeated laughter.

The maddened cackle turned to a declaration "Hail Mytteri! The free spirit! The true nature of man! The way we were all meant to be free and unstoppable!" the woman howled a disturbing chuckle though she was met with no response. After a brief silence the Kontor spoke "I condemn thou harlot witch! I condemn thou to the grave and your coffin will be one bound in iron! Thou form will be bound in an iron coffin by impalement!" The Kontor persisted. "No please... not the maiden!" Astrid lamented aloud but was once again spoken over by the Kontor "I am not finished! It is by decree of the Biskop that you will also BURN! Thou coffin will also serve as a kiln for your wretched shape and the monster you have birthed will be drowned! Take this woman of the night away from me!" The Kontor demanded of his accompanying knights. Kicking, screaming, and pleading, the woman was dragged away into the dark bowels of the iron cathedral, her sorrowful calls the only thing that could be heard from her.

That night would end as the Kontor approached the barracks of the Gudkaedes nestled not too far from the dungeons. Despite the time of night the barracks were not silent filled with sleeping soldiers instead the clanging of metal could be heard nearby. The Kontor would approach the training room. There before the Kontor was a grisled old man and a young boy with dark hair and silver eyes.

The two of them held weapons made for training, a small sword and a flail respectively. The Kontor paused and observed for a moment. “Kaazimir, your flail is strongest when you take advantage of the chain.” the man spoke sternly but with a fatherly tone. The boy struggled backing away constantly trying to push the blade with his flail. The boy was silent, a visible look of frustration on his face and determination in his tiny eyes.

 After a moment the Kontor interjected: “...Use the chain to wrap around his blade, Dvornikov. Then pull… rip it from Gudkaede Naas’ hands.”. The boy’s brows furrowed his teeth clenched as he now realized he was being watched by two masters rather than one. Again he would push the blade away with the spiked ball, but seeing an opportunity he would do as commanded and followed up. Wrapping the ball and chain around Naas’ blade and then pulling sharply. The small sword held by the gudkaede was thrown to the ground with a satisfying clang and young Kaazimir disarmed his trainer.

Naas blew air through his teeth and set his gaze to the kontor giving him a feigned half of a smile. It was clear he was actually annoyed. “I wanted him to figure it out, Kontor. A strong arm on the battlefield is useless alone. A strong mind must direct the arm.” Naas explained unhappily. “I could have done it! I Just didn’t think of it… I will next time!” Young Kaazimir insisted a unhappy frown on his face as the discontent of Gudkaedes Naas seemed to sour his very tiny victory.

The Kontor snarled at the boy, annoyed “Silence child! You know not where you succeed. A proper education comes with discipline and authority, something that can only be learned… not inexplicably construed. You do good by obeying my commands, always learn from your betters young Dvornikov.” the boy responded promptly, dropping to his knees and bowing his head “Jao, Kontor; as the tyrant commands.”the boy responded obediently. Quickly Naas spoke up “What is your command, Kontor?” Naas peered over at the old priest and it took him a moment to respond. The Kontor’s vision traded between the boy and Naas before he finally spoke. “The witch and the caliban your unit has captured refuses to recant. I think this will serve as a good lesson for your boy.” The Kontor ended his speech, dark eyes set upon the young Dvornikov. “Lessons Kontor?” The boy did not dare lift his head nor set eyes upon the Kontor but his curiosity could not be contained when it came to a lesson.

The Kontor expelled an unsettling yet gentle chuckle “Jao, lad. Your guardian Gudkaede Naas has recently captured a heathen witch and her foul infant caliban. Today, child you will become a man. You will come to do what is expected of all men and that includes: defending your home, your tradition, your people, and most importantly the Lawgiver.”. A wide and barely contained smile crawled across the young man’s face; practically ear to ear. “I’m ready, Kontor! I want to defend my home and be a loyal gudkaedes like Naas!” Kaazimir’s exclaimed just barely containing his excitement but no matter how quiet he kept one thing spoke loudly and that was the sparkle in his eyes at such an opportunity. The Kontor and Gudkades Naas both wore a reserved smile upon their faces at the boy’s enthusiasm; their eyes however were like stone and held no such spark nor light. “You are to execute both the heathen and the monster. Your time is now, young Dvornikov.” The Kontor dictated and he stepped out of the room walking down the hall again with his armed guards.

 Gudkaede Naas rested a gauntleted hand upon small Kaazimir’s shoulder and ushered him forward. The boy remained silent following the priest led by his warden. They stopped before a wooden door made of aged oak. The screams and howls of an old woman could be heard in chorus with that of a crying child. The Kontor looked back at Kaazimir “Are you ready to do your duty, Kaazimir?” the old man questioned his eyes keenly placed on the boy from over his own shoulder. In mind Kaazimir was uncertain but he knew better than to not respond at all. “Jao, Kontor.” the boy spoke in reluctance. The door flew open to reveal a peculiar dungeon of sorts. In the center was a large metallic pole that served as a kiln. It was connected to a coffin shaped door that had the engraving of a Vaasan woman upon it. Surrounding the coffin shape were piles of wood dampened with oil, only a small path was made so that victims would be carried to the pole and iron maiden hybrid. Around the room were various instruments: a rack, a wheel, and a forge with branding irons all stowed away. Yet there was something much more mundane that stood out from all of the chains, and apparatuses that plagued the room. On a standard surgical table was a small fat little infant creature with a leg of a goat, swampy green skin, and two horrid tusks crying loudly. Resting next to the table was a barrel filled with water.

Close by the iron maiden stood a fully suited gudkaedes gripping the chains of Astrid. The woman's face was distraught with horror and madness. It would appear that she had been crying for some time but at the sight of Kaazimir, she laughed. “A boy!? You’re going to dirty this boy’s hands!? You are evil! You are all evil!!” The woman shouted in her hysteria. Tiny Kaazimir frowned and he backed up a little frightened by the woman but he was stopped by a familiar metal glove. “Kaazimir. One day the people of Nova Vaasa are going to depend upon you to burn the witches and slay the beasts of the realm. It’s okay son, my first time was hard too.” Gudkaedes Naas kneeled down and spoke to the boy in a quiet tone as fatherly as he could. Naas’s eyes were hard as he remembered his own time but Kaazimir still hesitated. “...You can’t wait in front of the Kontor, you need to do this now.” Naas stated firmly. A look of fear came over the boy's face and he shuffled towards the knight and the shackled woman.

The woman laughed and taunted the boy “Who is this? Why do you bring a child to do a mans work?” The crone laughed like a witch would. The knight holding onto the chain peered down at Kaazimir waiting for some initiative. “Take her chains, Kaazimir. Cast her into the maiden. I know you have it in you to fulfill the role of Gudkaedes. Be the Iron Champion Gudkaedes Naas tells you about all the time.” The Kontor spoke up with some encouragement; but irritation was also clearly heard. It didn’t take long after hearing the words ‘Iron Champion’ did Kaazimir reach out and take the chains. The boy dragged the battered and beaten woman to the door of the iron maiden. Small hands opened the iron doors to reveal spikes on the other end of the door. The Spikes are placed roughly where the victims shoulders and knees would be. Designed to hold the victim in place by impalement but not kill. Determined and unwilling to allow the Kontor to wait any further; the young boy threw the woman into the maiden and slammed the door shut impaling her legs and shoulders. The woman's howls of pain echoed inside the metal maiden and blood seeped through the bottom of the trap door. Stressed, but knew it was necessary Kaazimir locked the door and ran away. “They will make you one of them!” The old woman cried out “You will become one of these bastards who have the nerve to call themselves ‘knights’! They are not protectors, they are monsters!” Astrid barked out with a weakened gasp.

The Kontor caught the once squire Kaazimir and turned him around to once again face the iron maiden. “You are not done, Kaazimir. This is only half a task…” The Kontor chided Kaazimir and with a snarl he grabbed a torch from the wall and placed it in the boy's hand roughly. Kaazimir gripped the torch and then looked to the Kontor, straightening out his features as best he could. “Light the wood, Kaazimir. Today you are the Lawgiver’s most prized servant… you will send his most hated enemies to the Hell of Slaves! There she will toil endlessly, and labor eternally! And you my boy? You will be welcomed into the gates of the Iron Paradise with open arms! Go on, child! Judge the witch!” The Kontor demanded giving Kaazimir a nudge forward. The boy with renewed determination stepped forward, torch in hand refusing to let the noise of crying from both the infant and the woman impede him. Kaazimir set the torch to an oily piece of wood and before much longer the entire ring of lumber was set ablaze. It illuminated the room brightly with an orange glow. The flames licked and slathered the iron maiden kiln. No more cursing, no more words of anger, nor hate. Only screams escaped from the Iron Maiden. The old Kontor smiled maniacally, approaching the boy slowly and resting an elderly hand upon his shoulder. “Well done young squire! You have conducted His work!” Suppressed horror smeared Kaazimir’s face but he stood brave and watched the raging fire.

“Gudkaedes Dvornikov isn’t done, Kontor.” Naas spoke up, approaching Kaazimir. The boy’s guardian took him by the shoulder and escorted him now to the table with the infant. “Come, you have judged the heathen, and now you must slay the beast.” Naas had spoken with even further encouragement. Kaazimir approached the table where he came face to face with this hideous and mutated creature. It cried out in hunger, gnashing tusks and teeth  as it flailed its tiny arms and legs about. Kaazimir stared down at the monster and a look of discomfort was visible on his face. Often he was told of doing this, and even spoke of it, but when one is just moments away from actually doing the deed; things become different. “Stop waiting boy! This one is a monster you know what you must do!” The Kontor raised his voice and scrutinized the boy; he was getting very angry at Kaazimir’s reluctance.
With his small and shaky hands, Kaazimir gripped the calibans neck and lifted it off of the table. The boy stared at the crying beast, his eyes became like glass and again he hesitated. “Kaazimir!” Naas scolded “Do it! Now! Become a Gudkaedes, a step towards becoming an Iron Champion!”. Youthful Kaazimir snapped out of his gaze and did what he needed to do. The boy moved over to the barrel filled with water and with fear he acted with haste not daring to show reluctance again.

Kaazimir submerged his gripping hands into the water. The water thrashed about in small but erratic waves of heavy water that lapped onto Kaazimir’s arms and face. The boy’s eyes burned as he held his hands under the water. Those silver eyes ached as he failed to hold back tears. At first he could hear the sounds of his guardians motivating him with promises of grandeur and the satisfaction of doing God’s work. At some point however, all he could hear was the crashing of water on wood. The water kept fighting back and then in seemingly almost an instant the torrent of water ended altogether. Kaazimir did not let go right away; he held his hands in place and contemplated the work he had done. Finally the world around him came back around to him and he relaxed his grip.

“Are you crying boy? What’s this on your face?” The Kontor asked with disgust in his voice. “No!” Kaazimir answered quickly. “No not at all… the freak got water in my eye that’s all!” the boy answered back insistently. Kaazimir forced a smile but there was no light in his eyes. “Congratulations, Gudkaede Dvornikov… you’re going to make a fine soldier. Go now, boy. Retire to your quarters and be prepared for training tomorrow.” Naas spoke sternly but proudly gave Kaazimir a firm pat on the shoulder. The Kontor nodded in approval as Kaazimir took leave. When he was out of eye sight he raced down the hall and back to his room. The now Gudkaedes settled into his bunk and stared at the wooden wall next to his bed in the dark. The echoes of screams and crashing waves raced around in his mind for a time before finally he whispered speaking to himself. “I did right. That was a monster and a witch.” the boy’s dull silver eyes continued to stare at the wall “...They feel pain as a means of expelling sin… just like the Kontor’s sermon… jao. I did good.”. The wicked bells of the Cathedral were silent and mournful that evening. Two children have died; smothered by the dark and suffocating waters around them. An unrelenting torrent of tyranny. Another black day in Nova Vaasa.
« Last Edit: April 22, 2022, 10:23:54 AM by The Blasphemer »

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Re: Kaazimir Dvornikov - A Shackled Champion [747 ~ 777]
« Reply #3 on: June 27, 2022, 07:53:30 PM »
PØBEL RETFÆRDIGHED
[NOVA VAASA 766]
Written by Meduegna

Quote
   The collection of grim bells did not sing from the Cathedral in Nova Vaasa this oppressive summer afternoon. Yet Nova Vaasa was always loud at all times of the day. If not the bells, it was the sound of tools upon soil, and even with the sun suspended in brightness upon the land, this golden glow was yet another curse upon the earth as the hot sun beat down upon the unfortunate laborers who continued to toil away despite the suffocating heated air around them. All of Nova Vaasa felt this heat. In that sense the heat was fair, the scorching air equaled the playing field; but even then those above had their ways of disregarding the great solar equalizer. Up in one of the spiraling towers of the Black Citadel Fane was the office of the Kontor Daugaard. One of the few who could afford to escape the heat. Seated upon an obsidian balcony in the shade, fanned by servants, and sipping on a vintage Romulich family Barovian wine. The Kontor watched legions of gudkaedes training in the outdoor center with scrutinous eyes.

The clanging of metal surrounded the entirety of the training field as the gudkaede knights trained amongst one another but one particular fight seemed to gather the attention of those on ground and above. Two men dressed in iron breastplates, their faces concealed by sallet helmets were locked in a fierce engagement. One wielding a flail and shield, and the other a small spear and shield. The duo of combatants met at each other blow to blow with none being able to make a sizable trade. Their thick shields were painted red and held the spear and diamond shaped symbol of Bane the Lawgiver. That paint would chip away with each glancing blow as each fighter tried to bypass the other until finally the flail wielding warrior misstepped leaving himself open to a frontal kick in the chest. The knight in training fell onto his back and found himself face to face with the tip of a spear. A padded applause of leather gloves clapping filled the outdoor gymnasium and as quickly as the clapping began so was the iron spear replaced with an outstretched leather and metal gauntlet. The downed warrior took hold of the hand and was lifted up. “You should be glad your colors are red and black… green and white and I would have skewered your face, Kaazimir.” The spear wielding knight spoke with amusement, his voice echoed off the metal walls of his helmet. Kaazimir a young man removed his helmet to reveal a sweating face with the beginnings of a great beard sporting a carefully groomed mustache, and long hair. “You should be happy this is only a spar, Viktor. Hard to train with a flail. I could have crushed your skull so many times. Well done regardless, old friend.”. The exchange between soldiers was cut short however by the shouting of Gudkaede Naas.

“We didn’t say to stop! All of you back to training! Dvornikov, and Westergaard quit making such a spectacle! Lest I put you both on stable duty!” The old Gudkaedes shouted at the two young men, and the surrounding gudkaedes merely laughed before returning to their work having enjoyed their brief break. Kaazimir placed his helmet back upon his head and re-engaged Viktor and yet again the two raged on. Naas watched the two men fight again with silent admiration before something had caught his eye. Billowing reddish brown smoke off in the distance began to fill the afternoon sky. The old gudkaedes narrowed his eyes, and the sounding of horns soon filled the day air barely audible over the sound of the gudkaedes banging metal weapons together. Naas stood up and lifted a hand “Hold!” the old gudkaedes shouted and all the men stopped. The sound of guards mens horns could now be heard well. The men looked up and noticed the smoke coming from the city. “Wonder what the hell is going on, Viktor.” Kaazimir said quietly. “Whatever it is, we're probably going to have to deal with it. If the guards are having trouble that is.” Viktor returned in a whispered tone with a grunt. The sound of padded leather footwear could be heard shambling quickly over cobblestone and a servant man approached gudkaedes Naas immediately kneeling upon arrival, bowing his head “My lord.” the servant spoke with haste and urgency. “Speak.” Naas had rolled out dismissively. “There is a riot in the city square. One of the nobles felt slighted by a begging peasant woman and well… he beat her to death with his cane!” the servant explained hopelessly. Nass deflated with a sigh, his palm moved to his head and his fingers rubbed his temples. “The guard requests aid, the merchants' homes are being looted and destroyed.” the servant continued. Naas turned to the training gudkaedes “Well? What are you standing around for, get in real armor and let’s move!” the lieutenant gudkade snarled and instantly the gudkaedes sprung into action retreating to their barracks.

The town square was a catastrophic mess as buildings once up right and proper were now shambled and disheveled. Fires took place all around the city streets and in various stores as peasants both human and demi-human ran about with torches and weapons drawn. A careful eye would notice a halfling; stealing cooking ware from a bakery, the baker’s corpse was draped over his counter, and blood flowed from his neck. Nearby the tailor's windows had all been smashed in with the seamstress herself fleeing for her life, and inside were various peasants fighting over her hand made clothing. Out in the streets all manner of violence occurred with guards being murdered and torn apart, market stalls being raided by hungry peasants, and the guards who remained were no better whole sale slaughtering the rampaging commoners. The sound of ambient violence and looting however was broken with a single shout: “Afgaa herfra opstille! They’re coming! The Gudkaedes are coming!” A man screamed at the top of his lungs, he was standing atop the fountain in the middle of the city square with a scrawny outstretched finger pointed towards a the road where a sea of black metal and red flags and standards featuring the Lawgiver’s recognizable symbol of a spear across a diamond shield could be seen marching in.

Leading the battalion of gudkaedes was Lieutenant Naas on horseback he wore no helmet, and displayed upon his armor a series of medals and from the neck he wore a magnificent crimson cloak. “Surrender now! Arms down commoners! You are judged by the Lawgiver on this day!” Naas called out a sword raised towards the crowd. Naas spared the crowd many words but the crowd didn’t waste a breath. A darkened bruised somewhat rotted tomato crashed into the lieutenant's helmet smearing his armor with rotten tomato juice. A bitter snarl emerged from the mounted gudkades helm as he ordered his troops. “Make an example of them. Kill as many as you need.” The pride wounded gudkaedes ordered and with a gesture of his iron finger the sea of black metal poured down upon the city. All the commoners scattered throughout the dwelling; but they weren’t finished.
The peasantry fought back in the streets, and while many of the gudkaede were skilled enough to deal with the wave of hungry angry peasants; those in training were not so lucky. “Death to the kneelers!” A beleaguered man with a pitch fork cried out as he skewered a still training gudkaedes right in the neck. The partially armored corpse hung from the top of his tool and blood trickled down the shaft and over the farmer's knuckles. Kaazimir and Viktor approached the peasant with little patience with a swing of the young gudkaedes flail, and a chop of his allies sword bones were cracked loudly and the head of the serf fell off of his shoulders. “Wretched cur!” Viktor snarled as he picked up the head and tied it to his belt. “Good thing we stick together, Kaazimir. Could end up like Jørgen over here.”. The helmeted Kaazimir peered down at the impaled corpse of his comrade mutely for a moment before speaking up. “We need to get him back.” Kaazimir stated flatly. “Back? Why? He’s dead!” Viktor asked in astonishment. Kaazimir’s helm shifted to look upon Viktor as he picked up the corpse and held it up on his shoulder. “Jørgen, was an ally even if I didn’t know him too well. I would see him buried properly. It’s the right way.” the knight in training responded. Viktor shook his head and removed his own helmet to wipe sweat from his brow “Kaazimir we need to put these animals in line first before anything else.” Viktor had returned unhappily a mere moment after he spoke, a stone struck Viktors face leaving a gash. The duo were surrounded by impoverished halflings. They appeared hungry wearing tattered clothes and wielding various farming instruments. “Git the longshanks! Their armor will sell real good I can tell!” one of the small sized serfs cried out; raising a sickle he held in his hand. “Cut their legs off! Make’em like we are!” Snarled another, the large gang of halflings surrounded the two gudkaedes. Viktor scowled and pulled his helmet back on and Kaazimir dropped Jørgen’s corpse and held his shield up looking around. It was clear that they were surrounded by the large gang. The only comfort the recruits had was that they had one another.

The small men screamed and charged the two soldiers in training. Kaazimir swung his flail; the spiked iron ball tore the face off of an approaching halfling before crushing his skull in a macabre display. Viktor drove his blade through the abdomen of an approaching one seemingly satisfied. Lone starving field workers were of no trouble to the young men but an approaching group was a different sort of animal. The two quickly found themselves swarmed by the group. Halflings crawled and climbed all over them. Kaazimir thrashed around throwing the tiny men off and deflecting them with his shield or weapon just barely keeping himself alive. Kaazimir’s fighting stopped when he heard a cry for help. The black metallic helmet turned to gaze upon Viktor utterly consumed by a pack of the small men. One straddled Viktors breast plate and with a hunting knife he slit open Viktor’s throat. Blood leaked down from the metal bucket and his form collapsed. “Viktor!” Kaazimir cried out as he watched his friend stumble and fall to the ground. In fury the training gudkaedes met the small men with his anger and wrath as he charged them once again; crushing one of the small bodies with his flail utterly mangling the creature. The others swarmed him as well; their desperation setting in as they drove daggers into his legs and side. Young Kaazimir yelled as he kicked and swatted them away trying to take as many as he could to avenge his friend. The youthful gudkaedes had fallen like his friend had before him. The diminutive laborers swarmed him but despite this, Kaazimir swung back with his iron plated gloves, cracking the skulls of the small beings refusing to go down without a fight or if he did go down he would do so swinging. It all seemed over as three finally held him in place. One met him face to face with a dagger held above his head, ready to end the iron clad warrior. The young man gazed upon the dagger with his silver eyes and the world became silent, and time slowed down. Kaazimir Dvornikov was ready to face his death.

An orchestra of galloping horses however broke the silence of the moment. Death came on this day but not for youthful Dvornikov. The small man was removed in a flash of black steel and red blood. The halfling's corpse splayed out on the cobblestone road, his body torn to pieces. The other halflings tried to run but they were blocked off by the horseman. A mounted knight approached Kaazimir, and at first it was not clear who it was but as he focused his gaze he saw his savior: Lieutenant Naas. “... The Lawgiver determines you strong this day, boy.” Naas said in a stern and fatherly manner. “How pitiful it had to be that I must save you from creatures the size of your boots.” Naas narrowed his eyes as he spoke with scrutiny. A bloodied Kaazimir did not want to dare look weak in front of Naas; he pushed himself up onto his legs despite the stab wounds. “Lieutenant… they killed Jørgen and Viktor…” Kaazimir explained with a wounded stutter in his voice. The lieutenant snarled and dismounted, walking up to the boy, and grabbing him by the jaw. “Tell me, Kaazimir. How do you feel about it all? Your comrades lost? Speak.” Naas questioned callously. Kaazimir considered his words but spoke up promptly “...Viktor was my friend.” The gudkaedes spoke mournfully. Without delay, Naas slapped the knight in training with the back of his gauntlet. “Weak minded fool!” Naas hissed out with disappointment. “‘Friend’? You don’t have ‘friends’, Dvornikov. You have comrades, and comrades have a duty to one another. Viktor and Jørgen failed. They were useless to you, and they were useless to our battalion.” Naas spoke matter of factly as he glared at Kaazimir. “...Of course Lieutenant. It was my mistake” Kaazimir uttered with reluctance; averting his gaze.

Moments after however, he decided to speak up facing Naas “Then why save me? Did I not fail, I would have died!'' The squire challenged his master. Naas gave him a long look narrowing his eyes before issuing a command “You’re done today. Carry those corpses back to the Citadel Fane. As punishment, you will bury them, and you will learn that those who are of no use to the Lawgiver or themselves are of any use to you. Might makes right, never forget this. Now get moving!”. Kaazimir shouldered the corpses of his allies and dragged them back to the Citadel Fane on foot. The journey was unhindered by no one but himself. Those silver eyes of the training gudkaedes would peer at the pale cold corpse of Viktor. There was a restrained sadness in those silver orbs. Kaazimir paused altogether to peer over to the body and opened his mouth as though to speak. With a grunt he stopped and shouldered the corpse again carrying Viktor back. “How dare you fail me, and more importantly how dare you fail my God.” Kaazimir spoke in dismissal to the cadaver before reaching the cathedral and making his way towards the graveyard.

At the days end the black bells of Nova Vaasa sang out in a solemn chorus; a funeral song tainted the air. Kaazimir looked over his shoulder peeking over at the city he retreated from to gaze upon the happenings. The black sea of metal was successful; they brought the rebellious to the city square where they were executed in spectacle by the Church militant. The heads of the peasants hung low and fell to the ground ceremoniously as Kaazimir watched on. The squire looked upon his fallen comrades and then towards the citadel. Without further hesitation he drudged on towards the citadel, the black bells sounding their funeral march. The rebellious executed, friends slain, and friendship sentenced to death. Another ghastly day in Nova Vaasa.

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Re: Kaazimir Dvornikov - A Shackled Champion [747 ~ 777]
« Reply #4 on: August 13, 2022, 02:03:47 PM »
REJSE SIG FRA HAD-TRONEN
[NOVA VAASA 775]
Written by Meduegna

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The clanging symphony of disaster rang out across Nova Vaasa from the Citadel Fane. This cacophony of hatred was serenaded with ghastly cries for mercy as battered and wounded criminals shackled in iron manacles were ushered through the gates of the Fane. The line of convicts were led to a hall close by the Citadel and were escorted by armored men still fresh in their training. Shoved and whipped along they traveled down a mess hall leading to a well fashioned wooden desk that was adorned with a banner depicting the spear and diamond sign of the Lawgiver. Behind it however was a black throne where an armored titan sat. This man stood at a towering six and a half feet tall with broad shoulders. Encased in black steel plate mail armor trimmed with gold that had covered the entire upper part of his body including his arms. It was as though he was a vast metallic shadow. Adorned atop his helmet were two large horns and a large bear pelt covered his neck and shoulders. A blood red tabard hung from his waist down in between fully armored legs. The man wore sabatons upon his feet which were adorned with golden spurs.

As the guards approached with their prisoners; the metal gargoyle of a man gestured with an iron claw for them to approach. The guardsmen knelt before the iron clad titan of a man before speaking. “Gudkaedes Dvornikov, we have collected the blasphemers. They were in the woods dancing about a fire and giving worship to Mytteri. Your orders?” the guardsman asked as he peered up at the giant. Kaazimir’s helm peered down at the man but behind the full face mask his eyes could not be seen. In the eye slots was a black abyss that held a frigid stare that was as cold as the night itself. “Prepare them for purification by fire. The descipels will have to learn as I once had.” Kaazimir spoke audibly his voice was icy and calm; and despite this tones of hatred could be felt in his guttural voice as the darkness of his helm gazed upon the heretical captives. “Please! Surely the Iron Lord would guide us mercy! We were misguided! It was-” The front leading captive pleaded only to be cut off by Kaazimir. “Silence. You and your party deserve only what He so chooses. All will kneel before the Iron Tyrant, and if you meet Him with refusal? You shall be made to kneel. Remove these pieces of garbage from my hall. Their treacherous crimes deserve only a Hell of Slaves where their flesh will be flayed by fiends and they will labor until annihilation.” with a metallic talon Kaazimir gestured to a hallway that led to dungeons. Blood curdling and desperate cries for help and mercy; echoed about the hall but only silence had met those sounds of true anguish. Their cries dissipated as they moved down the hall consumed by the silence.

From the deep shadows of the administration hall emerged Kontor Daugaard a pleased look upon his aged and venerable face. “You have learned well, boy. Our newest Gudkaedes will learn how to deal with these filthy animals and their heathen ways soon enough” the Kontor said with firm approval. The black knight looked over at Kontor Daugaard and dipped his head not daring to interrupt him though he acknowledged him all the same. “And yet…” The Kontor continued “I believe your time at the Citadel Fane doing… ‘this’ is time unwisely spent.” he had stated peering up at the iron tower. “Unwise? What would be wise then, Kontor? What would you have of me?” the giant spoke a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice.

“Walk with me.” The Kontor commanded and the metal monster rose from his throne and followed the Kontor. Downa series of halls until they reached a balcony; below them were the guardsmen with their prisoners preparing to purify them by fire. “The Gudkaedes order simply isn’t what it used to be. Look at that down there, there must be twelve men you sent out to apprehend six? Pathetic.” the Kontor sneered at the men as they began tying the prisoners to posts surrounded by kindling. “Only three on horseback should have been necessary. Things were much different at my age and you… by Iron, the work me and Naas have put into you will be a waste here. No, I have a much more interesting task for you in mind. One more worthy of the destiny I, and surely the Lawgiver has planned for you.” The Kontor related eyeing Kaazimir appraisingly.

 “What would you have of me, Kontor?” the horned titan asked. “I have read of legends in past texts of a man to represent the Lawgiver and His perfect tyranny. A ‘Champion of Iron’. One who carries with him the shield of faith, and a flail to deliver His divine judgment.” As the Kontor spoke the sounds of ignition could be heard and the bright orange glow of all consuming flames flooded the side of the Cathedral, and the condemned sang out their lament of pain would carry them to the very Hell of which they were doomed. “This is what you would have for me? To become His Champion?” Kaazimir responded curiously. “Indeed it is. The Church needs a mortal figure it can look to for strength, one that can truly live up to the expectations of one of His most faithful servants. You will not have that here in Nova Vaasa. Oh no…” The Kontor shook his head as he spoke with enthusiasm in his voice “Here in Nova Vaasa you will accomplish nothing, you will be the weapon of his judgment for all the blasphemous and little mutant freak subhumans will fear you but anyone can do that. Instead I have much higher hopes, I want to send you abroad to carry the word of the Lawgiver on your broad shoulders. Build yourself a following and become the legend the Lawgiver has so spoken of.” The Kontor relayed.

“Where will this journey begin then? To what ends of the core do you wish me to travel?” Kaazimir persisted. “Everywhere.” the Kontor responded “I want you everywhere, and I want you to spread the faith wherever you go. Perhaps set your eyes on those backwards frill wearing fops in Dementlieu. Their peasantry speak with loud and entitled mouths ill fit for their station. I would not have you begin there though, instead I want you to go to a true backwater: Barovia. It’s land is wrought with Mytteri’s most vile and hungry minions. The land is walked by idiots, and concubine worshippers. A true challenge to begin and then go from there. Who knows? Maybe you will finally educate those hairless apes; the Mulan to follow true orthodoxy. Either way, a carriage will await you in the coming morning and it will take you to the grey city of Vallaki.”

“Vallaki? Very well Kontor. Progress or death; the Lawgiver will be my guidance either way.” Kaazimir affirmed. “Excellent. Get some rest it will be a long journey and you will no longer be under our firm control. The Lawgiver guides you now, Gudkaedes Dvornikov.

When morning came a black carriage was readied for transport and from the colossal Citadel Fane emerged Kaazimir. The black bells of the citadel Fane clamored in ‘farewell’ to the titan. As his iron fingers opened the carriage door he gave the Citadel Fane one final look knowing he may never see it again. As the black knight closed the carriage door the dark bells sang out in their macabre orchestra once again. An insidious glee sung from the bells as though they knew what they had seen, and what they have inflicted upon the core. Just another cruel day in the Demiplane of Dread.
   
« Last Edit: January 07, 2023, 11:27:55 AM by Meduegna »

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Re: Kaazimir Dvornikov - A Shackled Champion [747 ~ 777]
« Reply #5 on: January 07, 2023, 11:49:43 AM »
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It was a long time coming but I have finally finished up the backstory that had been in production since before his closure. While I am bumping so the finished product can be seen, I want to take this final message to thank everyone involved with his story. You know who you are and I am always happy to play with you and the wonderful community of players who have chosen to give Hazlan a chance. Thank you all for everything!