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jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years ago

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Of Gods and Men: Epilogue

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EPILOGUE:

Jahaan dangled his fishing rod down into the depths of the wondrous Prifddinas waterfall. The waterfall was sky-blue and magical, tumbling down over the mountain and splashing into the lake below. The pool down there was so clear it perfectly reflected the brilliant white clouds above like an impeccable mirror image of the sky. The falls twinkled as sunlight caught the crystal walls of the surrounding buildings and flashed their brilliance into the lake.

The air tasted fresh on Jahaan’s tongue, as nourishing as a glass of iced water. You could smell the purity of the atmosphere, of a little haven attuned with nature, living harmoniously around its elven neighbours.

The crashing cascade of the water was a low hum beneath him, a pleasant swish of waves lapping against the rocks. He heard the sound of children playing in the lake below, giggling and laughing in tune with the sweet chirping of birds.

Perched on his little wooden bridge, Jahaan took in the calming atmosphere with a contented sigh. This was the place he spent most of his days now, ever since the town council agreed to gift him a little house in the Meilyr district, a small token of appreciation for his services to Gielinor. It had been about three months since he was discharged from the hospital, and he hadn’t left Prifddinas since. He didn’t want to.

Jahaan worked part-time in the bait-and-tackle shop in the Meilyr district, and supplemented his income by fishing. They had strange fish in these waters, all making for a strange delicacy. It was an acquired taste at first, the urchins that he caught and cooked, but he slowly got used to them. Once he learned he could put them in soup - creating the best delicacy ever, hill still firmly there to die on - it was a different matter entirely. Lady Heledd had been kind enough to share the recipe with him.

Ozan settled down beside the bridge, still keeping a slight distance between himself and Jahaan. “Hey, Ariane’s finished setting up the picnic if you wanna come join us?”

Ozan was adapting to life as a wight quicker than anticipated. The inability to eat grated on him the most, and his appearance would occasionally frighten the elven children. It took awhile to convince the locals he wasn’t a zombie. Said locals referred to him as ‘marwwr’, not really a term of endearment but a factual statement that, yes, he was a deadman. Ozan got used to it though, taking it in good humour.

He and Ariane didn’t exactly want to relocate to Prifddinas, but ended up doing so anyway. Unfortunately, west of the River Lum, those of the undead variety weren’t particularly welcome in towns and cities. At least in Prifddinas, Ozan had Jahaan, the town elders, and even Seren to vouch for him. As for Ariane, thanks to teleportation, it was easy to commute to the Wizards’ Tower for work. There, she and a handful of other wizards were starting to look into a cure for Ozan’s affliction, but hopes weren’t high as of yet.

Coal wasn’t a big fan of Prifddinas once he figured out that crystal was too tough to eat, and most of the structures and tools in the city were made out of such a material.

Nudging closer to Jahaan, but never too close, Ozan motioned with his head to the female fisherman perched on the rock opposite Jahaan, the one with brunette bangs who’s eyes kept flicking in the World Guardian’s direction.

“Psst,” Ozan whispered with a mischievous smirk. “I think she’s checking you out.”

Jahaan looked over at the elf in question, but she quickly glanced away with a sheepish smile.

Turning back to Ozan, Jahaan grinned and said, “Drop dead Ozan.”

“Already did, Jahaan.”

“Encore.”

Then there was a laugh, but it wasn’t Jahaan’s or Ozan’s, and it echoed throughout Jahaan’s mind. He shook his head to clear it.

This had happened before, many times. Jahaan had a theory, but he shared it with no-one. After all, a pleasant lie was far better than an unpleasant truth.

What he didn’t know was, some of those around him had the exact same theory.

There were differences he noticed ever since he woke up inside that Prifddinas hospital bed. He could sense auras around people, dark shadows that lurked around their being. Sometimes the world had slightly muted colours, like he was unconsciously slipping into the Shadow Realm, something he never intended to do again.

But the main difference he noticed was the voice inside his head, a new voice that was certainly not his own.

It was there during the menial and mundane, there during the trials and tribulations. It talked to him, and talked AT him. Reassuring occasionally, mocking often, but not necessarily at his expense. It commented on things, laughed at other people’s jokes.

Sometimes it even sang.

At first it disturbed him, but as he became more and more used to its presence, it stopped bothering him so much. Sometimes, when it was quiet, Jahaan missed it.

But late at night, when he tried to go to sleep, the familiar laugh would always return...

...and when no-one was around…

...Jahaan would laugh back.

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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#of gods and men #it's been a wild ride guys #ty all so much!

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jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years ago

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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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QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 8 - THE OTHER SIDE

As soon as all the gods were spat out of the labyrinth and into the sweltering desert heat, Seren informed the gathered crowd about the fate of the Stone, and how the World Guardian and Sliske were left behind when it exploded. Though it was implied that they would have perished, Icthlarin knew otherwise, as did Death.

Zamorak and Saradomin left soon after, not caring to spend anymore time among one another’s company than they had to. The Stone - their prize for these tedious games - had been destroyed, therefore what was the point in remaining?

Armadyl decided to stay. When he noticed Icthlarin and Death hadn’t left, he didn’t want to either. Their presence meant there was still hope for Jahaan. He discussed with his avianse about the feasibility of tunneling down to provide the World Guardian with some assistance. Even though it was agreed that such a feat was impossible, Armadyl refused to leave until he saw either Jahaan or Sliske emerge from below. He prayed it was the former.

Seren stayed too, as did Zaros. If Sliske was the one to crawl out from the depths below, they wanted to be the first to greet him.

After what felt like an age had passed, Zaros suddenly vanished. There was no teleport spell cast - he just vanished. Naturally, panic and paranoia followed, Azzanadra nearly coming to blows with the elves that guarded Seren. He was convinced she had something to do with his disappearance, despite her affirmation that she knew nothing and there was no evidence suggesting otherwise. It took Armadyl and Icthlarin to quell the tension, but they barely managed it.

After only a few minutes, Zaros blinked back into the gathering like he’d returned from a ripple in existence, though considerably angrier than when he left. Seren tried to call out to him, but he simply stormed over to his entourage and teleported away with them, a dark cloud lingering where he left.

Not long after that, Jahaan returned to them.

Or at least, what was left of him.

Jahaan was conscious when he hit the ground, though that sharp return of his agony made him wish he wasn’t. What happened next, however, barely registered for him - the dirt and tears in his eyes, coupled with the deafening ringing in his ears, made focusing impossible. All he could concentrate on was the pain, hoping it would get to the stage where he would black out from it. At least then he wouldn’t have to endure it.

Instead, he felt hands grab at him, rolling him over. He didn’t realise just how much blood he was lying in. An involuntary, blood-curdling shriek escaped from his lips when hands tried to put pressure on the wound.

He felt a cool ice coat his abdomen, a subtle pressure attached to it - a female voice followed it. Seren had temporarily stopped the bleeding with a layer of crystal. Not that Jahaan noticed. All he felt was a nauseating jolt as he was lifted up into the air, head-spinning and limbs crying out in protest.

Seren told the others to follow her to Prifddinas, which to Jahaan was nothing more than an echoed mumble. Whenever he was going, he hoped a bed was on the other side of it. A nice, warm bed… can’t I just sleep now?

Fortunately for Jahaaan, he got his wish.

The spell was intended to comatose the World Guardian during the operation. Elven medicine was far superior to anything else on Gielinor, therefore Seren knew Jahaan’s best chances were with her. But there was a lot of blood lost already, alongside damage to the small intestine, some of which would have to be removed. It would take days to see if the procedure had worked, and Jahaan’s condition could deteriorate in a matter of hours if they had missed a source of internal infection. Herbal remedies were infused into him to keep his vitals stable and to provide nutrients.

Whenever Jahaan was awake, he wasn’t ever ‘there’. Some delirious mumbles, a glazed expression, and a refusal to eat. Then, he would fall asleep again, sometimes for the rest of the day.

The chief healer, Lady Heledd, estimated that he would be sitting up, talking and eating within five days. Eight had passed, and all he did was sleep. Often, Jahaan would talk in his sleep, a crude blend of languages, some that even Lady Heledd and the other healers didn’t recognise.

Heads turned whenever Icthlarin and Death visited the affirmed, and assurances had to be made that, if they were there to claim Jahaan’s soul, they wouldn’t be coming in through the front door.

While Icthlarin was unaware of when Jahaan would pass, he knew that Death held that information. Death knew the ‘when’ and ‘how’ for every being on Gielinor. Of course, Death never parted with this information, not even to Icthlarin. Doing so would ‘upset the balance’, he would always say. Icthlarin couldn’t resent his friend for doing his duties, but hated not knowing if the next time he saw Jahaan would be in the Underworld. Not that Jahaan wanted to go through the Underworld, or to an afterlife. Icthlarin knew that, if the time came, he would have to respect the World Guardian’s decision.

Jahaan was never awake for their visits, nor was he awake for the handful of times Armadyl dropped in on him. The avianse deity had diligently stayed at his bedside, sometimes for hours on end, never getting anything more than a delirious groan from the World Guardian. Despite trusting the elves and elven medicine, Armadyl invited Gaw’kara to join him in a visit to Jahaan’s hospital room, just to see if he had a different take on Jahaan’s condition. Unfortunately, he didn’t, reaffirming what Lady Heledd and the elven healers had told them: time will tell.

When Jahaan slept for thirty-six hours straight, having to be kept alive by the constant chanting of an air spell to assist his breathing, there was the fear he might never wake up.

Until he did.

Groggily, Jahaan dragged himself back into consciousness, blinking away the haziness of his vision and trying to sharpen up the world around him. It was bright, very bright. Everything seemed to shine, like the walls were made of pure cyan crystal. It reminded him of Prifddinas, or what little he had seen of it.

Has Icthlarin accidentally taken me to Seren’s afterlife? Jahaan thought to himself, though reconsidered the likelihood after trying to sit up slightly and feeling a searing pain in his abdomen. Surely the afterlife doesn’t come with lasting agony?

Then, he heard a voice beside him, “Don’t move. I’ll get Lady Heledd.”

A brush of turquoise flittered past his vision. Soon after, a tall elven woman with curled blonde hair tied into a high bob entered the room. Her gown was white and pristine with a turquoise diamond emblazoned on it.

“Where am I?” Jahaan hoarsely whispered, his croaky throat coughing with the effort. A straw was forced near his mouth, and Jahaan hungrily sipped down the contents like he hadn’t drunk in months. More coughing followed.

“Steady on, love,” the pointy-eared healer cooed. Her warm voice was reassurance incarnate. “You’re alright now. Can you tell me your name?”

“Jahaan,” the World Guardian replied, needing to take a deep breath as he continued, “Jahaan Siad-Samak.”

“Alrighty Jahaan, and can you tell me your age?” Lady Heledd asked with a soft tone you’d usually use when addressing a child. In fact, she continued on with about a dozen more questions Jahaan deemed as asinine, his repeating inquiries as to his location ignored every time.

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me what’s going on,” Jahaan huffed, feeling slightly more invigorated now. Not enough to move, no. But enough to sound slightly irate. “Where am I?”

Setting down the notebook she’d been penning his answers into, alongside other comments and remarks, Lady Heledd perched on the bed beside Jahaan with the friendliest smile he’d ever seen. She probably gave this smile to everyone, but Jahaan wanted to think that it was reserved purely for him. “You’re in Prifddinas, love, in hospital. You’ve been out a while. I needed to ask all those questions to make sure you were fully with me this time.” “Fully with you?” Jahaan queried at the odd turn of phrase. “What do you mean? How long was I out?”

“Just under two weeks, dear,” Lady Heledd replied. “You’ve been awake before now, but you weren’t all that responsive, talking slightly delirious and all that.”

Jahaan tried to run his mind back over the last two weeks, but came up empty. He remembered nothing from that period. He forced his mind back further, but it was a mighty effort.

The labyrinth, the fight, the stab, he winced at the last one, tying it to the ache in his stomach. Then, his eyes widened. “Jas!”

“Steady on, dear,” Lady Heledd held him down as he bolted up in bed, the World Guardian instantly regretting the action, crumbling back into the bedsheets with an extended groan. “What’s this ‘Jas’ anyhow?”

Panting from the exertion, Jahaan said, “I need to talk to Seren.”

“World Guardian!” Seren cheerily greeted when she glided into the room. “I’m glad to see you compos-mentis.”

There were pressing concerns on Jahaan’s mind, one’s he wanted to share urgently before they were forgotten in the depths of his memory. But naturally, he first wanted to say, “Thank you for everything you have done for me, Seren. It sounds like you saved my life.”

“My elves saved your life,” Seren corrected, humbly. “It was touch and go at some points, I must say. But it’s a relief you pulled through. Your death would have been a loss for all of Gielinor, after all you have done. What happened down there, after the Stone exploded?”

Briefly, Jahaan informed Seren about the battle with Sliske and how the drain on the Mahjarrat’s energy weakened him severely. He told of how he was stabbed by the Staff of Armadyl, and how Sliske stabbed himself too, no doubt trying to forcefully siphon Jahaan’s soul into himself. But, for some reason, the process failed, and Sliske turned to stone.

Then, he finally arrived at what he needed to tell her the most, about his meeting with Jas.

After the tale ended, the elven deity was rendered speechless.

Jahaan had to prompt her, “What should be done?”

Seren gulped. “I… am not quite sure. I am not surprised at my brother’s attempt to ascend to elder godhood, and I am glad he was denied. But Jas said that mortal life has to prove it is worthy of existing, or the Great Revision will commence again… how do we prove ourselves to a being that considers mortal life a mistake? How can we...”

Her tone became faint, trailing off towards the end. To Seren, she had been burdened with the task of ensuring all life in the universe continued. To Jahaan, he’d relieved himself of the issue for now. No doubt it would weigh on him at a later date, but for now, tiredness was crawling back into his mind, his eyes suddenly feeling a whole lot heavier.

After a few minutes of solemn contemplation, Seren noticed her audience was waning. “I shall leave you to rest. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll be up for an audience? Icthlarin has been visiting repeatedly, much to the disconcertion of the elves.”

“I’d like that,” Jahaan said with a faint smile before allowing his eyes to close.

When Icthlarin walked through into his room the next day, Jahaan was finally sitting up and managing to get some soup down him. Solid foods were still too much of a struggle, and his appetite was far from its usual self, but this soup was divine. Never had hospital food tasted so damn good. Maybe it was because he hadn’t eaten much of anything in a fortnight, but this soup was one of the finest culinary delights he had ever had the pleasure of enjoying. This was a hill he was prepared to die on.

“Icthlarin!” Jahaan grinned, the soup’s warmth and happiness increasing his mood tenfold. “I must be the only human alive who’s glad to see the god of the underworld.”

“It is good to see you here, alive and almost in one piece, my friend,” Icthlarin replied, a broad smile that revealed his large canines. It soon faded, however, as he said, “I… apologise for the state I was in during Sliske’s labyrinth. I am embarrassed you had to see me like that.”

“Don’t apologise,” Jahaan fervently finished up the last of the soup. “I’m just glad you’re back to your usual self now. Can’t say the same for me though. Lady Heledd - the chief healer here - thinks I’m going to be bedridden for a while.”

Jahaan didn’t frankly care, as long as he had his soup.

Naturally, Icthlarin was curious as to what occurred after he was ejected from the maze, and Jahaan regaled him with the tale in full. Afterwards, there was a prevailing question on Jahaan’s mind he had to ask, even if the subject loomed over his good mood like rain clouds threatening to burst.

Mentally preparing himself, he breathed deeply before asking, “How was Ozan when you saw him?”

Icthlarin furrowed his brow. “Ozan?”

“You remember Ozan, don’t you?” Jahaan checked, slightly puzzled. The two had met on adventures in the past, and Icthlarin never forgot a face. “He was one of Sliske’s wights. He’d have passed onto the afterlife after Sliske died, right?”

“I remember Ozan well, but he never passed into my domain.”

For a brief moment, Jahaan could have sworn he felt his heart stop. “C-Can you explain that?”

“I… I do not know how,” Icthlarin looked as concerned as he did confused. “If Ozan was bound to Sliske as a wight, Sliske’s death should have released Ozan’s soul. That is the natural order of things.”

Jahaan didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to dare get his hopes up. The pain of having them crash down around him might finish him off for good. And yet, he couldn’t help himself. “Are you saying… Ozan’s alive?”

“I can only confirm that he is not dead,” Icthlarin spoke slowly, like he was calculating equations in his mind, ones that were written in a language he couldn’t quite decipher. “At least, not fully. Perhaps he is still trapped as a wight, but that should not be possible. He should-”

He was interrupted by a tight hand squeezing his own. Jahaan bolted upright in bed, wide eyes showing more signs of life than they ever had. “Can you find him for me? P-Please, I… I need to see him, please can you try to find him?”

Features softening, Icthlarin rested a paw on top of Jahaan’s hand. “I shall try, my friend.”

When Icthlarin shut the door to Jahaan’s room, he leant back against the firm mahogany, his thoughts trying to catch up with him. Indeed, Ozan was still on this world - something the god of the underworld just knew. But how? Icthlarin never saw the man as a wight, but if indeed that was the fate that befell him, Sliske’s death would have released the man into his domain.

Something was off. Something was also off about Jahaan, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was just a smell around him, something about his usual scent that didn’t match.

Rubbing his temples, Icthlarin resolved to sleep on the matter, then locate Ozan in the morning. Perhaps by talking to him, Ozan could shed some light on the situation.

The next evening, Jahaan heard the swish of a teleport spell land outside his door and the faint mumblings of Icthlarin’s voice. When he spoke to the elves, he spoke in elven, so Jahaan had no idea what was being said.

But Jahaan didn’t care what they were talking about. All he could think about was if Icthlarin had brought company with him.

Scrambling to sit up in bed, Jahaan’s heart beat faster and faster, making a home inside of his throat. The anticipation was killing him.

Then, after one twist of the door handle, his heart threatened to burst.

Ozan walked through the door.

He was still a ghostly green, translucent in some places, with robes that seemed decayed and withered. In fact, he looked exactly the same as he did in Sliske’s chasm, though thankfully without the damage to his legs that Jahaan had inflicted.

Both men just stared at each other in disbelief for too long, debating the chance that the other was a mirage.

Eventually though, Ozan plucked up the courage to remark, “Wow, finally someone that looks worse than me.”

Jahaan practically choked on his own tears as he started to laugh. Just to hear Ozan’s voice again made all of this worth it. Every single memory he’d be forced to relive, every single injury he’d have to endure for the rest of his life… Ozan made it all worth it.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Jahaan stammered through the tears, desperately trying to wipe them away with his bedsheets.

“Neither can I,” Ozan laughed, nervously scratching the back of his head. He was never good with hospitals - they freaked him out, but he tried his best to hide that fact through a broad smirk. “Now, you aren’t going to break if I hug you, right?”

Grinning, Jahaan beckoned him over. But as soon as Ozan embraced him, the man recoiled suddenly, inhaling a sharp breath.

Jahaan froze. “Are you okay, Ozan?”

Gulping, Ozan’s hand slowly moved to gently rub his neck, taking a tentative step backwards. “Didn’t you feel that?”

“Feel… what?”

“That… shock,” Ozan cleared his throat, exhaling a shaky breath. Shaking his head, he tried to chuckle, “Maybe it’s the side effects of being dead?”

Jahaan forced a faint laugh, but he was unnerved by the scared look in his friend’s eyes.

The two talked for ages long after that, but Ozan sat firmly on the other side of the room, as far away from Jahaan as possible. For a man with no sense of personal space, it was rather concerning, but Jahaan refused to think too much about it. He had his best friend back - nothing else mattered.

“I just woke up back at the Barrows,” Ozan recalled. “I didn’t have that grip on me anymore - I had control again, free will. The others were there too, Ahrim and Dharok… all of them felt the same way. Sliske’s hold over us had gone.”

Jahaan replied, “I’m just confused… when Sliske died, you should have passed on, not be trapped on Gielinor.”

“Icthlarin said the same thing when he found us,” Ozan informed. “Said he had no idea why we were still here. He offered to take our souls to the afterlife though, if we wanted it, since we were already dead and all. Some of the Brothers are considering it.”

“What about you?” Jahaan tried not to sound nervous.

Fortunately, Ozan’s grin reassured him. “Oh I’m not going anywhere. A world without Ozan would be a very dreary place indeed.”

More guests visited him throughout his weeks in bedrest, but Ozan was the regular, bringing him books and sneaking Coal in to visit him when the healers weren’t looking. The man had gone back to the Wizards’ Tower and received a tearful reunion with Ariane, which warmed Jahaan’s heart. He and Ariane had shared their differences in the past, but she made Ozan happy, and that was all that mattered.

It took severe persuading from the city’s elders, but eventually, upon Seren’s insistence, Azzanadra was allowed to visit Jahaan. Not that the Mahjarrat was pleased at all with having to enter Seren's domain. In fact, he loathed the idea. But he felt a duty to Jahaan to at least visit him once. If the World Guardian can fight alongside him in a Mahjarrat Ritual, this was the least he could do.

But he didn’t stay long. In fact, as soon as he entered Jahaan's hospital room, he wanted to leave. Something was not quite right. There was a feeling, a pull, a familiar presence lingering… like a ghost trapped within the walls.

Azzanadra listened intently to the story of what happened after he was cast out of the labyrinth, trying not to let his stony features betray the trepidation he felt.

One part of the story stuck with him, however, threatening to bring his darkest theories to light.

“Which end of the Staff did he stab you with, again?” Azzanadra checked, biting on the inside of his cheek

“The bottom part,” Jahaan replied, “Thank the gods he did. If I got stabbed with those wing things on the top, well…”

It was as Azzanadra feared. He had seen the work of the Staff, the Siphon, first hand before. Memories of the Empty Throne Room and Zaros’ assassination by the Staff were still fresh in his mind, just like it happened yesterday. Zamorak had used the Staff to siphon power from Zaros into himself. Sliske must have intended to use it to extract Jahaan’s soul, but instead he made a fatal error.

Wahisietel did not want to visit Jahaan.

Jahaan understood. The wound was too fresh; he would not want an audience with the man who was effectively his half-brother’s murderer. If Wahisietel would accept him, Jahaan would visit him when he could, explain what happened, and apologise for the role he was forced to play.

It would take time, Azzanadra had told him. The Mahjarrat had visited Wahisietel in his Nardah home to find the place a wreck, and Wahisietel himself was in no fit state.

“Can you tell him...” Jahaan started to ask Azzanadra, but was unsure how to sum up everything he wanted to say in just one sentence. “Just… can you tell him I’d like to see him at some point, and that I’m sorry.”

The words would sound hollow to Wahisietel. ‘Sorry’? Would ‘sorry’ bring back the only family he’d had for generations?

Jahaan quite enjoyed his time confined to bed rest. For once in gods knew how long, there was no weight inside his chest, no looming shadow of Sliske to cloud over his mind. Responsibilities could take a back seat. He had earned his repose.

Of course, there was the issue of the elder gods’ ultimatum to prove that life was worth existing, but Jahaan decided he’d cross that bridge when he had to. In fact, from how he felt right now, Jahaan was rather content with never crossing that bridge. He’d been Gielinor’s hero enough for one lifetime - someone else could take over the role for all he minded.

Yes, the idea of retirement seemed pretty good right now…

...until Jahaan heard a disembodied laugh rattle through his mind.

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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