*Reading the new K'sante lore*
*New darkin lore flashbacks*
Riot: We want Ascended god warriors to feel special and unique. The ritual was difficult and not everyone survived it
Also Riot: Ok but what if Xerath made his own Ascended
A baccai named Siran, he patrols the desert to warn travelers of the void monsters under the sands. If anyone gets caught, he uses his sand magic to mercy kill them before they get dragged below.
I got so pissed off at Rhaast not getting ANY BACKSTORY in the Darkin lore update that I wrote my own.
I strove to answer questions like:
-Why does he talk about being “forged to destroy” when he was an Ascended?
-Why is he so ridiculously over the top about killing?
-Why is he so bitter toward the other Darkin?
And, of course,
-Who the hell names someone “Obey”?
The ritual of Ascension grants incredible power to those who are worthy, and death to those who are not. But there are also legends of those stuck somewhere in between.
There was a Shuriman, his name forgotten or shunned by living memory, who was slated for Ascension. He would be one of the Sunborn, a god-warrior sworn to protect Shurima from any danger. He should have been one.
What staggered away from the Sun Disc was by no means an Ascended. But he was certainly no longer a human. Parts of his flesh had been twisted into living armor, faded into grey in contrast to his now blood-red skin. His malformed face and sweeping horns looked more like a child’s drawing of a monster than any known beast or man.
“Baccai,” came a voice from the crowd, the name for those who survived a failed Ascension. The once-human was quickly ushered away.
The failure was renamed Rhaast, for only through obedience could he atone for his botched Ascension. The Baccai bristled at the unfair name given by his fellow Ascended. Were they not brethren?
No, he was told. They were not. Not only had he been too incompetent to Ascend properly, he had to shame them all by surviving. Letting him associate with true Ascended was already an unprecedented kindness. He had their Empress to thank for that.
The Baccai took up a scythe out of spite. If he wasn’t a real Ascended, then he wouldn’t use a real weapon. No one objected. They fully expected him to die in his first battle against anything stronger than a mortal and rid them of their embarrassment. Rhaast defied them in the only way he could: He lived.
It was common practice for failed Ascendants to act recklessly in battle, even to the point of death. Their lives had lost value, but their deaths could still be noble. They sacrificed themselves to earn back lost glory.
Rhaast decided that he wouldn’t. Common practice be damned, he was more useful alive. He could serve his Empire and live. His flawed body may not have radiated the power of a true Ascended, but it was still very effective at killing. When the Icathians summoned horrors to their aid, Rhaast survived where many of his golden ‘brethren’ did not. Every part of him was a weapon. His hooves could kick holes in all but the strongest armor, his claws could slip between a Voidborn’s protective plating, and his horns could bludgeon or carve with equal lethality.
Rhaast’s own insecurities made him deadlier. He felt shame and anger at his own failure, and directed that anger outward into a fury that could overwhelm any mortal or Voidborn foe. He doubted he stood any chance against an Ascended, but that didn’t matter. He had defied everyone’s expectations and proven himself again and again.
Rhaast’s relentless fight against the Void finally granted him the approval he had craved since he approached the Sun Disc. For the first time, the Ascended called him brother. But that title faded with the threat of the Void.
As time went on and the Empress gave way to an Emperor, the other Ascended began to take Rhaast for granted. His deeds earned him a begrudging respect, but they could never fully compensate for his form. Rhaast slowly grew to accept his role. Greater than any mortal, but forever falling short of an Ascended, Rhaast had no one who would consider him an equal. The approval of his Emperor and the Ascended was the only metric he had of his value, and he wanted nothing more than to prove his worth. He killed whoever he was told without hesitation. Part of him missed his humanity, but there was no point in pining after something he could never regain. If he was no longer a person and could never be a god, then he would be the best weapon Shurima had ever seen.
When the Emperor died and his kingdom fell with him, Rhaast transitioned from a weapon of Shurima to a weapon of Xuuyan. It was in Xuuyan’s service that Rhaast began to once again question his role.
He heard what Xuuyan’s followers called the Ascended when they thought no one was listening. “Darkin.” Fallen. Xuuyan and all of his fellows had decided they would rather rule Shurima instead of protecting it. Now they were fighting one another in pursuit of yet more power. Or was it revenge? Xuuyan never bothered to tell him why he killed, only who to kill.
But if the Darkin had cast off their given roles, why couldn’t Rhaast? What gave them the right to lord it over everyone else just because they were stronger? If strength was all it took, then Rhaast would pursue it until he could match even an Ascended.
The next time Xuuyan called him into battle, Rhaast left. He vowed to Xuuyan that one day he would return, stronger than before, and overwhelm the arrogant beast with the same ferocity he so valued
He never saw Xuuyan again. The mortals and Targonians had banded together and used a magic he could not fathom to force him into his own weapon. He had never been proud of his twisted body, but at least it could move. It could speak, shout, breathe. Now he could only stare helplessly at the mortals as they debated how best to use him against their former masters.
Rhaast came to understand that mortals were even more wretched tools than he had been. And it was very easy to relate to people who were tired of being used. He clamped down on his burning desire for a form as much as he could and allowed himself to be wielded. He had once been human and had often daydreamed of returning to that state in the centuries since then. Even if he would never be anything more than a tool, Rhaast would not let his former people share his fate.
When the other Darkin had been killed or sealed, the mortals buried him anyway.
Even if he was not Ascended, he had served them too well. Rhaast had no way to make a case for himself, as he had spent too short a time sealed to learn how to communicate from his weapon. The mortals shut Rhaast into a box as he tried to scream for mercy with a mouth he no longer had. Eventually, the sound of shovels and falling earth stopped and all he knew was silence.
Rhaast swore to himself that he would not forgive or forget the arrogant god-warriors who had used him, or the Aspects who gave mortals the knowledge to seal him in this motionless body. But as the years turned into centuries, it became harder and harder to keep his thoughts in order. A seemingly unending torment of isolation and immobility accomplished what the Void and the Ascended could not: It broke Rhaast.
This time, at least, there was no one to see him fail.
It would be centuries more before the paralyzing dark’s hold on him slipped as mortals stumbled across his scythe form. In the meantime, Rhaast lost more and more of the Baccai and person he had once been as his shattered mind struggled to keep its grip on anything from before his captivity.
When the scythe was finally unearthed, two things stood out among his frenzied thoughts: His name was Rhaast and he was made to kill.
(Author’s note: Rhaast’s Baccai form looks exactly like his in-game model.)
